


All He Wants For Christmas

by CayCharming, HollyGlow



Series: Save Him From Himself [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Light Sub/Dom, Loneliness, M/M, Murder, Parentlock, Past Relationship(s), Porn with some plot, Smut, injuries, mentioned child trafficking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 87,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CayCharming/pseuds/CayCharming, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGlow/pseuds/HollyGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmas but Holmes family hasn't seen much of Baker Street lately. When they realize the stress the absence is causing their son (and his Uncles) they are determined to make this Christmas fantastic. But can Sherlock and John balance the needs of their family while facing pressure from Lestrade to solve a case that may have ties to their son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Best Christmas in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The Christmas themed sequel to Save Him From Himself. So excited to start getting this fic posted. It's still in the processes of being written and edited but hopefully we'll be done with it before the month is over.

                                "Ow, be careful, Sherlock!" John snapped as they sat in the back of the car Mycroft had sent for them. Sherlock muttered an apology and then ordered him to stop complaining because he wasn't used to doing this. It wasn't often that Sherlock was the one giving the stitches and John was the one receiving them. John sighed, his mind completely overwhelmed. Time had passed far too quickly for his liking. One moment they were living peacefully in a loving three person relationship with Victor and then suddenly they were parents. Hamish's parents had been brutally murdered, causing the crime scene that they'd received the call to join Greg Lestrade on. Of course once they'd found the little boy it had been clear Sherlock was partial to him. Sherlock had promised not to do anything rash... But apparently letting it casually slip to Greg that they intended to adopt him if his family didn't come forward wasn't considered rash. Nor was slipping off and finalizing the adoption papers two days later. Once the words were in Greg's mind there had been no taking them back. Though John had never wanted to. He loved Hamish. Victor had moved out and into his own lavish flat, proceeding on with school and work until he suddenly disappeared. He'd fallen for his assistant, Alex. He was a nice bloke and if John was honest he was thrilled for the two of them, but they were getting married in the spring and all of it was quite overwhelming. It had happened over the course of three years but to him it felt like three seconds.

                Already Hamish was walking and talking, he was deducing things about his parents, and becoming more like Sherlock every day. John still couldn't get over how precious it was to find Hamish looking over a Lego crime scene with a magnifying glass. He had adorable dark hair and soft brown eyes, a caring heart like John and enough mischief to make up for it. John was exhausted from trying keep up with the two of them, especially now with the back to back cases, a alarmingly emotionally awkward and confused detective, and a precocious three year old. Not to mention Mycroft and Greg's constant lectures about the two of them continually leaving Hamish with them or Mrs. Hudson to run all over London on these cases that Greg also refused to stop giving them.

                                "Mycroft is going to be furious, we were supposed to pick up Hamish an hour ago." John muttered as he tried  focus on anything other than the fact Sherlock was stitching up a large knife wound on his shoulder.

                                "You were supposed to wait outside." Sherlock replied tersely, his attention focused and his voice strained. "I should have let the medical team do this. Why did you convince me I could do this?" His eyes were focused to crowd out the fear that had been gnawing away at his stomach, but his voice betrayed a slight panic.

                It had been an easy crime scene or so Sherlock had thought. Two men robbed a small accounting firm and then made off with the books and the money. Sherlock easily cornered them in their warehouse and was going to sweep in, deduce them thoroughly, and then watch smugly as the Yard hauled them off. But John said he'd seen a third man and came storming into the building. The two men and two others (the one John saw and another who came from outside) attacked them and now John was bleeding from his bicep where he'd been stabbed fairly deeply and had potential head trauma. Sherlock easily ignored his own injuries, though his own arm ached from where it was likely sprained. Pain was nothing for him.  He had a cut above his right eye that was still bleeding, his coat was torn, watch busted, and he had several moderately deep cuts himself - none requiring stitches but nasty all the same. His hands were shaking slightly as he tried to work, because for a moment he'd seen his husband in mortal danger. Something that still did not sit well with him. They'd been married for two and a half years but it was still a new challenge every day for him. Especially now that Victor was happily settled with his fiancé Alexander. John didn't have someone to cuddle anymore, well... That wasn't entirely true. He had Hamish, but no adult contact. So Sherlock was trying his best to adapt which if this was any evidence of it - he was doing a miserable job.

                                "Mycroft is going to lecture us to death." He sighed as he finished the stitches and pulled out an alcohol wipe to clean the surface of the wound. "This is going to hurt." He whispered, trying to prepare his lover. John nodded knowing full well how much alcohol burned. He bit his lip and gripped the car door handle.

                                "Do it." He ordered and once he felt the burning sensation he winced and muttered. "Son of a bitch." He pulled his arm away from Sherlock with a groan. "Shit. Fuck." He continued swearing as it burned. He shut his eyes for a moment, shaking his head to try to distract from the pain. "Well, this is the second night in a week we've had to leave, Mish with them." John said through gritted teeth. Once the pain began to fade away, he opened his eyes and let out a sigh. "Christmas is in four days and I haven't gotten a damn bit of shopping done aside from filling Hamish's stocking."  

                                "I was able to get a few things when you took him to the doctor for his checkup last week. Mrs. Hudson has them kept downstairs so he wouldn't find them." Sherlock's face was tight, he felt horrible for hurting John and for dragging John away. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. I should have solved this sooner." He looked out the window, his mouth tightened into a grim look.  He knew that really he shouldn't have had to solve this case at all. It was a simple case and surely even Greg could see the evidence right in front of him. He made a mental note that he would need to find out why Greg was calling him in on so many cases. "I'm sorry you got hurt." And there was that guilt again, curling away in his stomach as he tried to fight it. He'd felt it over and over since Victor left. The guilt that he wasn't doing enough for or right by John. It had been easy with Victor there to pick up the slack. It was easy to forget that John needed him so much more than he was available. His mind was racing away without him again, trying to figure out some way to help make this all right for his boys. John frowned Sherlock had been apologizing a lot since Victor moved out. At first it was honestly just nice to know he knew that things weren't perfect for John. But now it was starting to make him feel terrible

                                "Love, none of this is your fault. You don't have to be sorry for anything. I was the one who went after the guy alone.  Which to be honest was not my brightest idea. If anyone is to blame it's me for being stupid." He moved closer to Sherlock and wrapped his aching arm around him, not caring how much it hurt.

                                "Should I go out tonight? There are a few shops near us that stay open late. I know he's been wanting some more books on science and some more CDs of violin music..." Sherlock offered timidly, as John shook his head slowly, a fond smile on his lips. 

                                "I think you actually need some rest tonight. You haven't slept in two days. I'll try to go early in the morning." John smiled, he honestly didn't mind Christmas shopping. He'd always been the one to do it growing up and now he was doing it for his own family. That meant it wasn't a burden it was a joy. "I still have to find things for Victor and Alex, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft and Greg.... Am I forgetting anyone? He asked Sherlock softly. Sherlock turned back to look at him, his eyes betraying his complete lack of certainty as to what he was supposed to be doing in the moment. It bothered him that even after this long with John he still didn't know what he was doing most of the time.

                                "Me?" He asked in a soft voice, trying to make John smile.  

                                "No not you." John said with a soft smile.  "I got your gift ages ago." He assured his husband. Sherlock nodded slowly, searching his mind to make sure John hadn’t forgotten anyone.

                                "I think you've covered everyone really. You could be out all day at that rate though and you need to rest too. You hit your head pretty hard when he threw you into the room." He sighed softly, his leg giving an involuntary twitch as the adrenaline oozed out of his system and left him hollow and aching. "I could have lost you. We could have lost you..." He whispered, his brooding finally breaking open. "If that knife had been just two inches to the left..." His voice trailed off and he tensed. Now John could see it. He could see how worried Sherlock was and how because of that worry he was sinking into his own mind. There were many signs that was what was happening to his husband but the strongest one was that Sherlock had begun to spin his wedding ring on his finger. John almost inwardly cursed for having bought a ring that spun - it had become an easy habit to Sherlock, one he picked up quickly and now it betrayed his brooding to John whenever he was losing himself under the tide of his own dark thinking. John could see that his husband was thinking so many, _'what if',"_ that John wouldn't be able to keep up if he even tried to.

                                "But it wasn't." John whispered, moving his hand to Sherlock's hair. "It wasn't two inches to the left. You don't have to think about what could have happened. I'm here. I'm right here." He kissed Sherlock's cheek, trying to distract him from the dark thoughts clouding his mind. "Christmas is in a few days, we have our son, and we're going to have a wonderful holiday. Focus on that, Love. Not what could have happened."

                                "It's always this way, John." Sherlock's voice was pained, his whole body tensed. He leaned into John's touch, shutting his eyes hard. "Do I treat you well enough? Do I take care of you?" He asked suddenly, his eyes opening and a single tear sliding down his cheek as he turned to look at his husband.  He forced himself to stop spinning his ring for the moment, a shuddering breath rocking through him. "I promised to protect you and I keep dragging you into the line of fire... We haven't had much time to talk lately because of Hamish and the case. I haven't talked to you about this whole change of things with Victor, or how you're handling things, or anything... I've not be a very good husband have I?" He reached out and took John's other hand, gripping it tightly. "Are you still happy?"

                His face was childlike in that moment, desperate for the answer but terrified of what it might be at the same time. He wanted to find a way to make this easier for him. To make sure that he never had to put his life in danger again. He wasn't sure his own heart could handle it, let alone Hamish's. His eyes searched everything about John's face as he prepared to answer, scanning his eyes, the way he wrinkled his mouth, the way his body moved, all of it to find the truth. The truth was he himself had not handled the abruptness with which their situation had shifted, nor his own rashness at bringing Hamish into their lives very well. He didn't regret it but he had been completely ill prepared for the enormity of the task. He was also haunted by the persistent doubt that he was making a mess of things because he had no idea what to do. But God he loved the man sitting beside him. So much it made him ache to even begin to imagine what his life would be like without him. John wasn't prepared for the rush of emotions that suddenly poured out of his usually distant husband. He hadn't opened up like this in ages. He couldn't even remember properly the last time Sherlock had shed a tear. He stared at his husband with an utterly stunned and confused expression for a moment before his words actually sunk in. Sherlock was worried about his happiness. Of course he was happy. He loved being a husband and father. He had feared that would never happened, that Victor had been wrong about Sherlock's desired and yet here they were with a three year old. It was wonderful.  Sure maybe it wasn't perfect but he was happy. There were times where he missed having Victor around but now he had Hamish to cuddle with. It wasn't really the same thing but all John needed was someone there who said he loved him and wanted to touch him.

                                "Yes." He answered his voice cracking as he wiped away Sherlock's tears. "Of course, Darling, yes." He insisted and he kissed the hand that was gripping his own. "I love you so much; you have been a wonderful husband and a fantastic father." He smiled softly and continued to kiss Sherlock's hand. "Yes, sometimes I do get a bit lonely but that does not mean I am unhappy. How could I be unhappy? I have a perfect son, a beautiful husband, and some wonderful friends. I have no reason to be unhappy, Sherlock."

                                "You have to promise to tell me when you get lonely." He said softly, his eyes still focused on John. "I..." He sighed and his jaw tightened again. "I know you told me you never wanted me to change but you have compromised over and over again for our relationship and I have remained the same. It's not logical that you should be a doormat and I should just abuse you like that. So from now on I want you to tell me when you need me to stop and I'll try." He smiled a bit as the fear that had wrapped around his heart loosened some. "You deserve the world and then some. I want to give it to you." He bit his lip a little nervously, realizing he shifted from one extreme to the other so quickly. He looked down, his eyes staring at their hands together.

                                “Alright, I promise." John had said quickly but he doubted he could do such a thing. He wasn't used to _that_. To admitting he needed something. He was so used to doing things for himself and just getting by on what he could get. But if Sherlock wanted him to do that, if he was willing to try he would try also. "But you have never treated me like doormat. I would never let you treat me like a doormat." He assured his husband but he began to worry about whether or not that was actually true. Had Sherlock been ignoring John's needs so much that John had begun to also?

                                "I hope Hamish won't be too upset to see you hurt." Sherlock said with a bit of frown.

                                "Oh. Oh, Goodness I never even stopped to think about that. He'll be more upset to see you hurt. He's almost used to me coming home with something scratched or bruised but you, you hardly ever get hurt and you got banged up quite a bit. It may scare him."

                                "John, our son should not be comfortable with seeing his father beaten up." Sherlock said in his normal tone, laying his head back against the seat and sighing. "It's true though, isn't it? Because you always take the blows for me." He sighed again, he truly was exhausted even more so now that the adrenaline that had been pumping through him was utterly gone. "When did I even eat last?" He mused out loud, wincing slightly because he knew it would bother John.

                                "I forced a piece of toast down your throat before we left the house this morning." John chuckled because Sherlock had cussed at him for fifteen minutes after John had shoved the offending piece of bread down his gullet.

                                "What day is it?" Sherlock furrowed his brow, fishing in his pocket, wincing as he did, to find his phone. "Christ, it's Sunday?" He seemed to be ticking something off in his mind. He shook his head. "We're absolute crap without Victor to babysit us it seems." He started chuckling, though it hurt slightly. "John, I think we'd better take a small break from cases," He rolled his head to the side looking at his husband. "I think we're both indulging our bad habits again."

                                " _Our_ bad habits?" John asked with a smile. He didn't think he had any bad habits. At least not anymore. "I don't have bad habits anymore, you do." He teased, touching his husband's nose with his own. "You're the one who forgets to sleep and to eat." He pulled his nose away only so he could kiss his lips briefly. "I haven't been up to any bad habits." He grinned. John probably had been using his same old habits but when they were on a case he wasn't aware of anything he was doing. He did his damnedest to keep up with Sherlock and that was all that mattered to him. Well besides taking care of Hamish.

                                "Your hair hasn't been combed properly in three days which you've tried to cover over using your hair gel. Your jacket hasn't been cleaned in a week and you're wearing the same shirt as you were yesterday because you haven't had a chance to do the laundry and you refuse to allow me to touch it after I turned everything pink. You also forgot to shave this morning." Sherlock smirked, his mouth still close to John's. "You're just following me blindly into hell again and forgetting to take care of yourself. We're not setting very good examples." He ran a hand through John's hair, smiling as he did.  John blushed; he hadn’t even noticed he was forgetting to take care of himself. No matter how hard he tried that kept happening and he hadn't even realized it. Well, damn...

                                "Sorry," He mumbled with a sheepish expression.

                                "What do you say we have a nice night in? We can order some takeaway when we get home, we'll let Hamish pick a movie, and we can build a fort in the living room. I think we still have a bottle of wine..." Sherlock offered with a smirk.

                                "The day I say no to an offer like that slap me because that really right now that sounds like the best thing in the world." He smiled brightly at Sherlock before kissing him a little harder than before.           They hadn't done more than kiss in the pass week. Which wasn't because they didn't want to, rather it was because they just didn't have time. "Oh," John said with a soft moan into his mouth. "Maybe we can play in the fort after Hamish has gone to bed?" He suggested with a wink. 

                                "Is that a request," Sherlock hummed softly kissing John back harder. It had been too long since they'd had time to touch each other properly. Their life was a blur of cases and appointments now. "Or a promise?" He slowly nipped John's bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before claiming his mouth for a deeply passionate kiss. "And I'd slap you but as I recall you like it. It's not much of a punishment if you like it, _Captain_." His stare was purely indecent as he pulled back slightly, a smirk toying on the edges of his mouth. John's heart began to pound and if he hadn't learned to have better control over himself he would have had a strong erection almost immediately. Thankfully Sherlock's incredible neglect for minding his tongue had quickly worked up John's resistance.  Though as he met Sherlock's gaze, the lust burned in his eyes.

                                "God you're such a tease." John said with a growl. He peeked out the window of the car and saw they were at least fifteen minutes away from Mycroft's. "I have fifteen minutes alone with you in this car... What can we do in fifteen minutes?" He asked before he crawled into Sherlock's lap with a smirk of his own. If he thought about it, it really was like they were inside their own room back here. A tinted window separated them from the man driving the car, the windows to the outside were also darkly tinted, and he knew for a fact the glass was sound proof. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and began lowering his lips towards his. "Fifteen minutes alone with my husband, dare I even try to please him?" He asked with a giggle as he brought his hands to his chest, digging his nails in slightly. "Or should I just wait until we get home and our little one is in bed?" Sherlock groaned soft and deep, his body pushing up into John's embrace.

                                "I won't be able to stop if we start." His voice was a whisper, his eyes burning into John as he absorbed every movement. "It'll get the adrenaline going again..." He pushed up, desperate to claim those lips for another kiss, grunting softly as he did. John was holding his neck rather firmly. "John..." He pleaded but he didn't know for what. John smirked as he slid out of Sherlock's lap. He glanced toward the window, hoping the driver really couldn't see them back here as he steadied his resolve. He unbuttoned his trousers and then slid them down along with his pants.

                                "Get over here." He ordered playfully and once Sherlock followed him to the floor he unbuttoned his trousers and yanked them down along with his pants. "I bet we can hurry." He said with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "I bet us just rubbing our cocks against each other will do the trick." He pulled Sherlock down on top of each other, letting out a low groan when their lengths brushed together. "Fucking perfect."

                                "John!" Sherlock hissed, biting back a shout but just barely. God John could be so deliciously bad. He instinctively bucked his hips, trembling for breath. "I won't be able to stay quiet..." He whimpered, biting his lip hard as John pushed back against him. He tilted his head back, grunting as his hips fought to make contact again with John's. "Oh God, please..." He begged, his nails digging into John's arms.

                                "Sh," John giggled. He honestly didn't mind if Sherlock couldn't be quite. He had stopped caring about who heard the noises they made ages ago. They were married. They didn't get to touch each other often; stuff like this was bound to happen. But he loved trying to get Sherlock to be quiet because it was nearly impossible. Plus all his insisting that Sherlock remain quiet made Sherlock blush as he fought to and lost. "Hush darling." He said with a wicked grin. "You'll get us in trouble with your brother." He whispered, his head rolling back with a moan of his own. "Christ, come on Sherlock!" He urged, gripping his hips tightly. "Rub against me like we're horny teenagers."

                                "Fuck..." Sherlock hissed again and he felt like his body was going supernova. He slammed his hips into John's, leaning down so his mouth could connect with John's in a desperate effort to silence the inhumane noises coming from his own lips. He'd never realized how much he himself missed the contact that came from being intimate with John until they started touching again. Both of them desperately deprived of even the faintest of touches during these last few cases. He was already close, his entire body shuddering. "God! I don't know how you do this to me!" He whispered the words fiercely, his toes curling in his shoes. "John!" John however couldn't speak anymore. It was like that for him when they went so long without touching and then got so worked up. As he kept getting closer and closer with each thrust, he wrapped his arms around his husband. His eyes shut tightly as he approached the edge. He was whimpering and panting and he was sure the man up front had to hear them with the noises coming out of Sherlock's mouth but he didn't care.

                                "Oh... Oh, Sherlock." He whimpered, keeping himself from screaming as he bit into Sherlock's clothed shoulder. He released a muffled moan as he went over the edge, his body rocking with the much needed climax. Sherlock buried his face in John's chest, just barely keeping back the shout as he felt both of them release hard, his nails digging into the seat above John's head. He was panting and a mess.

                                "Oh God, I want so much more than this..." He whimpered, finding John's mouth and kissing him over and over again. His hips still bucking forward slightly. He was panting and shaking and he absolutely did not want to stop kissing John, but he knew they would be at his brother's soon. "Oh John, you incredibly devious man." He smirked. John let out breathless giggle and smirked smugly at Sherlock.

                                "It's what being with you has done to me." He said as he slowly sat up with a groan. He wanted more. So much more than that. But at least that would hold him off until later that night. He kissed Sherlock's lips fiercely, desperate to taste every part of him but he forced himself to pull away. "Have to get dressed." He insisted but it was clear he didn't want to. He grabbed his pants and trousers off the floor. "Later tonight," he promised as he zipped up his jeans. "I promise, I'm yours." He buttoned his jeans and moved close to kiss Sherlock once more. "I'll be all yours in our fort." Sherlock's hands had a mind of their own, his clothes readjusted they found their way into John's hair, pulling his closer for more kisses, trembling with desire.

                                "We need a shower... And food. I want you ready to go." He growled softly, finally pulling back as the car began to stop. "Mycroft's wrath awaits." He grinned.

                                "I'll be ready early just like any good solider, Master." He purred into his ear and when he pulled away he smirked. He knew that would tease Sherlock to hell and back. But he couldn't do anything about it because John had opened the door and climbed out of the car with a proud smile on his lips.  Sherlock was panting for breath and it took everything he had not to pull John back in the car and own him properly. He took as deep a breath as he could and followed him, wincing slightly as the cold air hit him. They could hear Christmas music coming from inside the house. Very loud Christmas music. _Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer_ , if he wasn't mistaken. The music was very loud, too loud. John approached the door and knocked even though Greg had told them many times to not even bother. "Oh God," He chuckled. "Hamish is probably driving them mad." He whispered to Sherlock who still looked quite cross with him for teasing him.

                                "Well then, it'll be worse than usual." Sherlock forced a smile as he opened the door. "Sorry we're late!" He shouted but he was hit a moment later by what looked to be a tiny ball of green and red that wrapped itself around firmly his legs and almost made him fall.

                                "Daddy! Papa!" The little boy shouted, clinging to Sherlock's legs. "You're late!" He pouted, a candy cane in his hand.

                                "You shouldn't be having sweets." Sherlock scolded him.

                                "And you were supposed to be here an hour... What the hell happened to you two?" Greg stopped as he entered the hallway.

                                "Uncle Greg cursed!" Hamish giggled; he looked up at John with wide eyes and a bright smile. "Did Papa get you hurt again, Daddy?" Sherlock tried to untangle the boy from his legs but it didn't seem to be working. Hamish was clinging to him with a death grip.

                                "We're fine Greg, no need to worry." He said dismissively. John frowned at the question; their child shouldn't have to ask questions like that.

                                "No, darling. I got myself hurt." He insisted with a fond smile as he crouched down on his knees to untangle his son from Sherlock's legs. "Come here, little monkey." He ordered playfully as he let Hamish climb onto his shoulders and he held his legs to make sure he didn't fall. He looked to Greg with an apologetic smile. "We got into a bit of brawl, nothing to worry about. No need to go to A&E or anything." He assured the man before stepping into house. "Hamish, why do you have the music so loud?" He asked, looking up at the boy who had hung the candy cane so it would dangle from John's ear. He chuckled thankful that the candy cane was still wrapped in plastic.

                                "It's because he insists on going deaf at an early age." Mycroft said as he entered the room with glitter and bright paper stuck to him. He looked furious. John let out a snort of laughter.

                                "What on earth happened to you?" He asked.

                                " _Your son_." Mycroft answered as he crossed his arms. Sherlock brought his balled up fist to his mouth and could not stifle the low chuckle that came out as he looked at his brother. Hamish grinned and puffed out his chest. John forced himself to stop laughing to look up at Hamish again, forming his mouth into a firm, thin line.

                                "Young man did you cover your uncle in wrapper paper and glitter?"  

                                "I made Uncle Mycroft sparkly! He's pretty now." Hamish giggled and Sherlock bit down on his lip hard, he might be cracking his ribs from trying not to laugh.

                                "Yea, this is what we get to put up with when you two are late." Greg crossed his arms, looking a bit upset. "John, you have stitches in your arm. Poorly done too... Jesus Christ did you have Sherlock do these?" Sherlock's gaze narrowed. Greg looked absolutely upset.

                                "Daddy, can we go home soon?" Hamish asked quietly, resting his head on John's. "I'm sorry if I upset Uncles." He wanted to stop the men from fighting.

                                “Soon, ‘Mish. Soon. I promise.” Greg frowned at that pout on Hamish’s face, he hated to see it.

                                “We’re not upset. We’re just tired, Sweetie.” He explained with a bit of a yawn.

                                "I'm sorry we were late. The brawl was unexpected. Consequently Greg your accounting robbers have been apprehended along with the murder weapon. Do try to process the case correctly." Sherlock moved over and offered to help Mycroft remove the paper and glue. Mycroft grunted but accepted without speaking. "He's only three Mycroft."

                                "Yes but did you do things like this when you were three? No." Mycroft answered angrily, his arms still crossed as Sherlock picked paper, glue, and _Jesus Christ, a Christmas light!_ Where did Hamish find one solitary Christmas light to glue to his ear? "No. You were a quiet child at three years old. You read your books or tried to anyway. Honestly I read most of them for you then. But you never covered me in glitter." He felt something sticking to his face and he pulled that off himself to find that it was a peppermint. He shot a look to Hamish who only giggled. Sherlock sighed. "This is what he does when he gets bored, Sherlock." He explained to his brother. "This is why we don't like when you're late. He runs out of things to do so the little devil gets creative."

                                "He is not a devil," John argued. "A trickster maybe but I wouldn't go as far as a devil. When he felt Hamish touching his arm he winced, "Careful, ‘Mish. Daddy got hurt there." At Greg's judgmental look, John rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sherlock did do the stitches but it's honestly not that bad. I'm not bleeding anymore and the wound is closed."

                                "It's pretty bad. You should have..." Greg started but Sherlock cut him off.

                                "We didn't want to. John's a doctor, he understands wounds." Sherlock's tone was dark.

                                "You two are back to this again? And here I thought you'd gotten some sense." Greg sighed and raised his hands slightly as they both glared at him. "Fine. Don't think about the fact we worry about you. We're going out of town tomorrow, so we won't be able to take care of Hamish for a few days. We'll be back before Christmas," He added when Hamish pouted.

                                "It's alright; we're taking a few days off. And I mean it, Greg." Sherlock crossed his arms but winced and uncrossed them quickly.

                                "You're gonna stay home wif me?" Hamish asked softly, looking excited. Sherlock tensed his face in a very Mycroft like fashion. "Are you _going_ to stay home _with_ me?" Hamish asked softly, looking down as Sherlock corrected him.

                                "Would you like that?" He asked softly, sweeping over to his boys.

                                "You never stay home with me." Hamish said in a sad voice. "You're always gone... I..." He looked away, unable to say that he wanted them to stay home.

                                "Aw." John couldn't stop himself from saying. He swept Hamish off his shoulders and into his arms. "We're sorry, ‘Mish. We've just been really busy with work. But we're going to stay with you the rest of the month. One of us will always be home, probably even both of us most of the time." He assured the toddler." He explained, running a hand through his hair and smiling at him. "But Santa is coming soon," He remind him and when the boy lit up he giggled.

                                "You two honestly are letting-" Mycroft quickly shut his mouth once Greg glared at him. He didn't think Hamish should believe in such a thing, he and Sherlock were never allowed to. He didn't see why Sherlock insisted on Hamish believing in something that wasn't real. "Didn't you say you had a case you wanted Sherlock to look at, Greg?" Mycroft asked darkly and John chuckled.

                                "No, no, no. We're done." He said sternly. "Christmas is in a few days. We're on Holiday from this moment on and we’re done." He said it firmly but he could still see the glint of curiosity in Sherlock's eyes. "Sherlock," He said warningly.

                                “I'm not leaving the flat for work,” Sherlock insisted after a brief pause. “And you, Uncle Mycroft, should learn that Santa Claus is an important thing for children. Or so I'm told." Sherlock smirked. Mycroft only rolled his eyes at his brother before he continued to shake more red and green glitter of his shirt.

                                "Santa is going to bring me a puppy right?" Hamish giggled. "I want a puppy!"

                                "I don't know about that Hamish. I don't think Mrs. Hudson would like that." Sherlock's voice was tense.

                                "The case is one right up your alley, Sherlock." Greg picked up the file. Sherlock took it and flipped through. John groaned.

                                "I told you, I'm not leaving the flat for work. I'll review what you have an offer an opinion but I need time with my family."

                                "Sherlock, don't even review the case. You'll be too tempted to check on it." John ordered as he stepped into the living room to gather Hamish's coat and gloves.

                                "I will not. I can show restraint John." Sherlock said darkly as his husband left the room.

                                "Why do you even want a puppy?" John asked his son. He was trying to change Hamish’s mind about the dog because he was getting the strong feeling there was some reason Sherlock didn't want a dog in the house."Wouldn't you like a toy or something better? Like a toy TARDIS that spins and makes that sound?" He asked with a bright smile. "Or Sonic Screw Driver, or that chemistry set your Papa said you're too young for?"

                                "I want a puppy!" Hamish said again, crossing his arms.

                                "He's wanted one for ages, since he saw one in one of his shows." Greg offered as he helped John retrieve all of Hamish's things.

                                "I want a puppy because I want someone to play with me all the time. Someone who isn't busy like all of you." Hamish didn't mean it to be hurtful but Sherlock's jaw tensed and Greg looked slightly pained.

                                "Hamish, love, come here." Sherlock whispered and scooped him off John's shoulders. "It's not going to be like that anymore."

                                "I can get him a robot dog." John whispered to Greg with a shrug but the look Greg gave him said that he needed to just get a dog. It wasn't like they didn't have the room.

                                "He doesn't like dogs." Mycroft said to John who raised an eyebrow.

                                "Yeah, I got that. But why?" He asked and though Mycroft looked as if he intended to answer the glare that came from his brother prevented him from saying anything.

                                "Ask him. He's _your_ husband." He shrugged. With a sigh John walked over to his boys and he kissed Hamish's cheek.

                                "We're going to make sure notto be that busy again, okay? You won't ever be lonely." He nuzzled his cheek with his nose. "We're going to have fun, Hamish. We'll make Christmas cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve and maybe in a few days we'll go for a walk through town so you can see all the Christmas lights."

                                "Yea!" Hamish grinned and he snuggled into Sherlock, not seeing the grimace Sherlock gave as his face contacted one of the cuts on his chest.

                                "We'll discuss the dog situation at home." The detective said curtly. "Thank you two for watching him."

                                "We'll give you a call when we get back, yea?" Greg offered.

                                "That would be lovely." Sherlock nodded.

                                "Daddy! Papa! Let's go home! Can we play a game?" Hamish was off asking a thousand questions.

                                "Of course, Mish." John said sweetly as held the door open for Sherlock and they walked out into the cold night. He was a bit concerned that they had been neglecting Hamish too much lately. They would have to fix that right away, they could not have Hamish feeling that way for even a moment. John opened the car door for Sherlock as they all climbed into the back of the car. Mycroft's driver began heading to Baker Street.  "What sort of game do you want to play, dear?" He asked Hamish, making sure his coat was on him nice and tight because even in the car it was a little chilly.

                                "Hm...." Hamish hummed snuggling into Sherlock and gripping John's jacket tightly. "Can we play pretend? I watched a show about a castle. Castles are nice." He was watching John intently leaning against Sherlock. Sherlock had his eyes closed, fighting a memory and the desire to open the case file tucked in his jacket.

                                "Well you are our little prince." Sherlock smiled kissing Hamish's head.

                                "I refuse to be the princess," John said quickly. "Papa can be the princess since his hair is longer." He teased, kissing Sherlock's cheek. He could tell something was wrong with him. He was keeping his eyes closed for a reason. "I'd love to play pretend though. Papa can be the princess and I'll be...well, what do you think I could be Hamish? A king? A wizard? A hobbit?" He ruffled his hair smiling at him fondly.

                                "Uhm... You should be a wizard..." He looked confused. "What's a hob... Hobbit?" He asked John, shifting from Sherlock's lap to John's.

                                "I am _not_ a princess." Sherlock said darkly, opening his eyes to watch his family. "You will find out when you are older." Sherlock smiled.

                                "Older?" John asked a pout. He had loved the Hobbit growing up and he saw no reason why he couldn't tell his son about how wonderful the books of Middle Earth were.

                                “Just a bit older." Sherlock said calmly. At the playful smile Sherlock gave him he sighed.

                                "I'll read you the book later, 'Mish." John promised his son, kissing the top of his head. "If Papa isn't a princess do you think he's grumpy enough to be a dragon?" He whispered to Hamish very dramatically so Sherlock could hear.

                                "Papa isn't grumpy Daddy. He's sad." Hamish snuggled into John. "He has his sad face on. I think he is sad you are hurt." Sherlock's face tightened and he turned to look out the window, spinning his ring. Hamish got down and pulled on John's arm, not knowing it was the injured one, as he tried to make his dads move closer together. When he saw John wince he began to cry. He crawled up on John, gripping his shirt in his little hands. "I'm sorry Daddy." He whispered through tears. "Why are you always hurt? Why doesn't Papa protect you better?" He demanded.  Sherlock clenched his fist, not returning his gaze into the car. It wasn't clear but he might have let a tear or two slip down his cheek. John's heart began to ache with sadness but he refused to let it show as he wrapped his arms around Hamish and hugged him tightly.

                                "Sh," he whispered, trying to soothe Hamish. "You didn't mean to. It's okay." He kissed the top of his head. John pulled away to look at his face and wipe away the tears."Papa does everything in the world to keep me safe, only sometimes Daddy doesn't listen because he's stubborn." He explained with a smile as he ran a hand through Hamish's hair. "You don't have to cry, I'm okay. Really.  Papa does a wonderful job at protecting me." He promised as he leaded close and rubbed their noses together.

                                "Did... Did you get the bad guys? Uncle Greg said you were chasing bad men. That you and Papa save people. Is that true?" Hamish leaned into John, clinging to him.

                                “Yeah, we did. That's how I got hurt." John answered, rocking Hamish in his arms. He felt awful. No child should have to be so worried about his parents. But there was no way they could stop working. They were good at what they did and Sherlock could never stop, his mind would explode if he didn't have a case. The consulting detective wanted to speak but his throat felt tight. Hamish's words felt like a confirmation of how horrible he had been the last few months. It felt like the words John himself couldn't say were finally in the open. Sherlock _was_ making a mess of things. He, without thinking, started spinning his ring a bit faster and bouncing his leg as he descended into his brooding thoughts. His thoughts were racing and uncontrolled. It was getting so loud in his head. It ached. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to go to this dark place. He wanted to hug Hamish and hear him and John laughing. He wanted the quiet.

                                "Can we move closer to Papa?" Hamish asked John in a whisper. He nodded quickly.

                                "Of course, dear." He moved closer to Sherlock, already noticing his husband's behavior. "Sherlock," He whispered. "Are you alright?" He asked with concern and when he got no answered he bit his lip nervously. "Would you like to tell Hamish about how we save people?" He asked, trying his best to bring Sherlock out of his mind. He tried to shift so he could touch Sherlock but he had to hold Hamish to him with his uninjured arm and was unable to reach him.

                                "Papa?" Hamish asked quietly, reaching out and putting his hand on Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock felt his mind snap free and sighed softly, he turned back and was mildly surprised to find John and Hamish now sitting so close to him. He felt like he'd missed ages of time with them, his head ached. He suddenly realized that he was winding himself up and that if he didn't calm down and find a way to ease his mind his addictive behavior would kick in again. He looked down at Hamish and smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes.

                                "Papa, are you alright?" Hamish looked sad.

                                "I'm sorry Mish," Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair. "What did you ask?"

                                "Uncle Greg said you save people..." He smiled, holding both of their shirts tightly.

                                "We do. Your Daddy is an amazing doctor and he helps your Papa figure out what the bad men are doing. That's how we found you." He gently slid a finger under Hamish's chin and smiled.

                                "Papa found you." John corrected, glad to see that Sherlock had calmed down even if it was only a bit. He rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he closed his eyes and thought back to the day Sherlock found Hamish. It had been raining and they were freezing and cold, desperate to get back in the car and go back to the flat. The case was solved but Sherlock refused to let them leave yet. "Papa wouldn't let us leave the crime scene. He wouldn't explain why but he made us all be very quiet. Then, to all of our surprise he pulled up a trap door and then there you were, crying and scared. The second he picked you up you stopped crying." He opened his eyes to smile at Hamish, running a hand through his hair. "Since then you've been our baby and we love you so much." He hummed. Sherlock blushed slightly and looked down at Hamish.

                                "I could hear you even over the sound of anything else." He whispered and Hamish's eyes got big. He loved this story. "Your Daddy said we could take care of you until your relatives could be found, but you didn't have anyone else. So... I talked to your Uncle and told him we wanted to adopt you if no one came for you. Then you were ours, but I knew you were ours the moment I saw you." He leaned down and nuzzled Hamish's nose with his own, though he was still fighting his thoughts.

                                "I love you Daddies." Hamish whispered, clinging to them.

                                "Want to build a fort when we get home?" Sherlock smiled. Hamish nodded emphatically.

                                "Yes!!!" Hamish giggled. John chuckled and wrapped his arms around the both of his boys.

                                "We'll build a fort and I'll order us some take away." He promised as the car came to a slow stop. "We're home." He said to Hamish, letting him crawl on top of his shoulders as they got out of the car. "Duck your head." He ordered happily as they stepped through the front door. "Sh, we have to be quiet or we'll wake Nanny Hudson." He added as Hamish giggled. They walked up to the flat door and he opened it. "Duck," He added again as he stepped through the door. "Come on, Monkey. Get down so you can help build the fort." He helped Hamish climb down and he laughed as Hamish began pulling out the couch cushions. "Wait for Papa to get here." He said as Sherlock walked through the door, the case file already open in his hands.

                                "Sherlock honestly, now?" He asked, sounding a bit annoyed as he walked into the kitchen to grab one of the many takeaway menus they had.

                                "I didn't want to drop it on the way in." Sherlock said softly and set it down on the desk. He walked over and moved the chairs from the dining table into the living room. "Hamish why don't you pick out a movie?"

                                "Okay!" Hamish grinned and as he giggled he ran over to their stack of DVDs looking over them. Sherlock moved almost on automatic as he worked to build the fort. Hamish brought the movie over to John. "Can we watch this one?" He asked excitedly.

                                “Of course, darling.” John smiled and took it putting it in the player. Sherlock finished the fort and smiled.

                                "John do you want to take a shower first?" He offered, draping his jacket over the chair.

                                "I will. But you two start the movie; I'll go take a quick shower." John stepped into the living room and met Sherlock's lips with a quick kiss. "Money for the take away is on table." He whispered. "I ordered from Angelo's, got Hamish some pizza since he likes it so much." He ruffled his son's hair and helped him take off his jacket, gloves, and boots. "Into the fort you go, young man." He ordered, watching with a smile as Hamish climbed into the fort, cuddling up into a blanket. "Can you still see the telly?" He asked and Hamish nodded quickly. "Now," He began walking over to Sherlock, "I am going to go shower so I can be ready for you, Master." He whispered thinking he could walk away just like before, he turned but then he let out a gasp of laughter when Sherlock pulled him back. Sherlock's eyes still betrayed the emotion rolling around inside of him but he claimed John's mouth in a passionate kiss. He then turned and finished pulling off his shoes and gloves.

                                "’Mish, Papa is going to sit outside the fort until he can take a shower. I don't want to make a mess. But I'm right here." He sat down and put his hand on Hamish's arm.

                                "Okay!" Hamish giggled, watching his movie about horses. He was very happy. "Hurry up Daddy! Come get in the fort!" He shouted at John

                                "Give me a moment, and I will, Sweetheart.” John said with a giggle as he walked down the hall into the bedroom and then the bathroom. He was honestly quite happy at the moment. They were all together at home. It was Christmas time and despite the pain coming from his wound, this is all he could ever ask for.  After taking a quick shower he slipped on one of Sherlock's t-shirts and his own pajama bottoms before walking into the living room to find Hamish on top of Sherlock's back, riding him like he was a horse. "Good Lord, I leave you two alone for five minutes and Papa has become a horse."

                                "Well Papa wouldn't come in the fort..." Hamish pouted. Sherlock got up as the food arrived, paying for it and bringing it in and giving it to John.

                                "You two eat. My turn to get this grime off." He kissed the top of Hamish's head and gave John a kiss before heading off. Once the water started Hamish looked at John.

                                "Why is Papa still sad, Daddy?" John felt his heart give a pang of sadness; he wished Hamish couldn't recognize that so easily. Sometimes the little boy could even recognize it before John could. He put Hamish's food on a plate and grabbing his blue sippy cup and filling it with his favorite juice.

                                 "I think it's because he thinks Daddy is lonely." He answered, seeing no point in trying to lie about it. "Do you want to eat in the fort?" He asked with a bright smile, trying to distract him from thinking about Sherlock being upset.

                                "Yes please." Hamish said softly, crawling back in. "Are you lonely?"

                                "No, Sweetie. Not all the time. I'm with you or Papa most of the time. I don't have a reason to be lonely." He assured the little boy as he sat the food down in the fort. He crawled into the fort and wrapped his arms around Hamish. "I'm happy." He said but he wasn't exactly sure of why he was saying it. He felt like he was happy but there was some part of him that maybe... Missed Victor still. He missed having someone to talk to. Yes, he had Hamish to talk to but it was nothing like Victor. He smirked thinking about the things he and Victor used to talk about. John hadn't spoken to Victor in about three months. He had been so busy with Alex, planning their wedding that they he didn't even have time to text anymore. "I'm fine. I really am, Sweetie. Papa will be too." He promised him before he started to eat his own food.

                Sherlock leaned his head against the tile, the coolness biting into his skin. The water was ice cold as it beat down over his skin. He was trying to shock himself out of his mind but it hurt, especially on his cuts. He'd done too well with Hamish. The boy was exceptionally smart and quick to notice anything emotionally off about his fathers. He knew something wasn't right. Sherlock shook as he fought the grief in his stomach. He had to find a way, a way to be more for John. A way to stop risking their lives in these dangerous situations... John deserved better. His breath was shallow, his mind racing again. It hadn't been this out of control since he's been using... Since John saved him from himself. He closed his eyes, sinking into the chaos of his mind palace. It was unorganized and cluttered. He was unorganized. His mind trying to overrule his heart again. He stood there, perfectly still, as the cold water lashed his skin. Sherlock's mind slowly ground to a still, he just stood there in his mind palace alone. He would have to fix this. He could. He hadn't always been so distant. It was because of Victor. They'd both loved him. They'd come to rely on him and his presence. It had become a crutch. He flipped the water to steaming hot, grunting as he did. He would have to find a way to make more time for his family. He needed balance. He still didn't move to wash up, still deep in his mind. Hamish smiled and snuggled into John.

                                "You have to eat too. Papa too! Why’s Papa taking so long?"

                                "Papa is taking a while isn't he?" He asked the little one who nodded, his mouth full of pizza. "I'm going to go check on him, you stay here." He carefully stood, making sure not to step on the food or Hamish. He walked into the bedroom and saw a bunch of steam coming from underneath the bathroom door. He frowned, that was a bit usual considering they never turned the water hot enough to create that much steam. John gently knocked on the door, his heart racing with a bit of worry.

                                "You okay in there, Sherlock?" Sherlock grunted, half startled. He turned the water temperature down.

                                "Y-yea." He called out, his voice shaking. He hastily fumbled for his shampoo dropping it with a loud clang against the tub. He cursed softly before he picked it up and poured some out into his hand. His skin was very pink, too much longer he might have burned himself. He sighed softly. "Sorry, be right out." He called again. When John heard the crash he frowned. Something was definitely wrong with Sherlock but he didn't know how in the world he could do to convince him everything was okay.

                                "Okay, just be careful in there." He said before walking back into the living room and sitting next to Hamish again. "Papa will be out in just a bit." He promised him. Without really thinking of the outcome John pulled out his phone and began texting the only person he knew that could help him with this sort of thing.

_Victor, Sherlock is starting to worry about me. He thinks he's not doing enough which isn't the truth at all. Do you have any idea how I can make him believe me? JWH_

 

                Victor had been surprised when his phone chimed. He was sitting in his study looking over some information for a meeting he was going to attend in January. He replied quickly, pleased to finally have heard from the boys.

_Starting to worry? He always worries about you, John. You can't convince him unless you are fine. Which I am  sure you will say you are. Are you really fine though? There must be something he can see that says you aren't. VT_

_But I am fine. He thinks he's not doing enough for me when that is not the case at all. He's trying and that's all I can ask for. I think it's because I said I get lonely sometimes but doesn't everyone feel that way? JWH_

_Lonely? I'm sorry we haven't talked more. It's just been very busy. You shouldn't be lonely, John. He should be there for you. VT_

 

                Sherlock finished washing up and moved into the bedroom. He pulled on his pajama bottoms and fished around until he found his favorite shirt. He came back into the living room but his eyes were still a bit distant.

                                "Papa!" Hamish exclaimed. 

                                "I'm sorry about that. Papa got stuck in his head." He offered with a smile. He sat down with them in the fort slowly spinning his ring.

                                "Eat!" Hamish exclaimed, looking grumpy. 

                                "Oh, yes, I should shouldn't I?" He smiled. John sat his phone down and grabbed his fork, scooping up a fork full of noodles.

                                "Yes, eat." He ordered with a smile as he brought it Sherlock's lips. He noticed that Sherlock was spinning his ring again and he sighed. That wasn't a good sign. "Do you want anything special for dessert, sweetheart?" He kissed the top of Hamish's hair. "Or are you full already?" Sherlock ate the forkful of pasta, noting John was texting. He didn't need to see it to know who he was texting. He sighed and got up to get himself some food.

                                "I'm full..." Hamish said in a somewhat sleepy voice. He snuggled against John. "I love you Daddies."

                                "We love you too.” Sherlock smiled, bringing his small bowl of food back. He sat down next to them and ate slowly being careful to not spin his ring, though he wanted to. The worried look on John's face was bad enough without staring at him doing that. He sighed but smiled. "Finish eating Daddy." Sherlock said pushing the fork to John's mouth with noodles on it.

_You don't have to be sorry. You're with Alex now and you two are busy planning the wedding, I get it. But Sherlock is here. And I'm not lonely all the time. I'm not lonely now. I'm with Hamish and Sherlock. I'm only lonely when it's just me and Hamish but that hasn't happened in a while but I am worried about Hamish starting to feel lonely. We leave him with Mycroft and Greg too much. JWH_

_I still should make time for you two. I know I have been a git. I'm sorry. VT_

 

_You haven't been a git. You're busy with the man who's about to be your husband, I understand. So does, Sherlock. JWH_

 

                                "I'm trying too, love."  John said, his mouth now full of noodled. He smiled down at Hamish and hugged him closer with one arm. "You just watch your movie, buddy. I'll make sure your Papa eats." He promised him. He looked over to Sherlock with a soft smile, "He's _tried_." He whispered because if Hamish even heard the word ‘tired’ he would start bouncing off the walls to prove that he wasn't. John could still see that dark look in Sherlock's eyes and it made his smile fade away. "Are you okay?" He asked and he knew he was starting to sound like a broken record but he wanted Sherlock to tell him what was wrong instead of just accusing him.

                                "I'm alright, love." Sherlock said softly. "I am just very wound up after today. I'm sorry I made you two worry.

                                "Movie is good." Hamish said softly, now almost completely asleep. Sherlock finished his food and ran a hand through Hamish's hair, pulling him into his lap and snuggling him against his chest. He leaned his own head on John's shoulder

 

_We could come by on Christmas. I owe you two a visit. I miss you. VT_

 

                At that last message John felt his heart give a painful ache and instead of forcing himself to reply, he set his phone aside and turned his gaze to Hamish.

                                "I love him so much."  John said softly. "I love you too of course," He added when Sherlock nudged him with his head. "I just keep thinking that we need to make this the best Christmas in the world. He's been so lonely and I want to make sure he doesn't feel like that around Christmas time." He sighed, running a hand over Hamish's hair. "He really wants a dog, Sherlock." John said carefully. "Is there a real reason you don't like them?"

                                "Yes." Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft was going to get a dog. We went to the rescue to look them over and one attacked me." He focused on running his hand through Hamish's hair. "It was fairly traumatizing. So I have never liked dogs since. But I will think about it." Hamish had fallen asleep, one hand on John's leg and the other on Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock smiled. "He worries just like you."

John felt his cheeks warm at the thought and he shook his head.

                                "That's not a good thing, is it?" He asked with a laugh. John felt like he worried about everything. There was always something to worry about. "He doesn't need to worry like me. He shouldn't have to worry at all. Children are supposed to live without a care in the world." He sighed, running a hand through his own hair. "He worries, he gets lonely, and I'm scared that we aren't spending enough time with him." He rubbed the tiny hand touching his leg, wishing he could begin to explain just how much he loved him.

                                "He is ours; he doesn't have a normal life, John." Sherlock grinned. He nuzzled John's cheek with his nose. "We haven't been spending enough time together. Any of us. Greg has become too dependent on you and me solving the cases. I make no promises of miracles but I will try to slow down." He pulled Hamish into his arms tightly. "Shall we take him to bed?"

                                "I'm... Not... Sleepy..." Hamish mumbled but he was still mostly asleep.

                                "Sh, darling, it's bedtime." John whispered as he climbed out of the fort with Sherlock. "Sometimes I wish he wasn't so comfortable sleeping alone. I miss when he was one and wanted to sleep with us all the time." John said with a bit of pout as they walked up the stairs. He also wished Hamish could normal life. That's why he was doing everything in his power to make sure it was normal as possible. That's why he wouldn't let Sherlock tell him there was no Santa. Because he wanted Hamish to believe in that magic like every other child. He wanted Hamish to be able to make cookies for Santa and decorate the Christmas tree with pretty lights. "He's growing up so fast. Before we know it he'll be all grown up." John tucked Hamish under the covers after Sherlock lay him down, gazing at his sleeping figure with a frown. "I want him to stay this little. I know that's selfish but he's our baby. He shouldn't grow up so quickly." He moved into Sherlock's arms and hid his face in his neck.

                                "Time passes too quickly for you." Sherlock whispered, leading John out of the room. He helped him down the stairs and stopped in the living room hugging him tightly. "John, things have changed so much lately. I don't blame you for wanting them to stay the same. But they can't." He nuzzled his nose into John's hair, inhaling that perfect John smell. His hands slipping under the t-shirt to caress John's back. "My sentimental husband." He purred. "I'm so sorry I have been so awkward this evening. My mind is poisoned with doubt right now. I am not sure I am good at anything and my thoughts have been racing out of control again. Seeing you in mortal danger just reminded me how much I would be lost without you and made me realize how much I have been neglecting you." His voice was soft, the tone he reserved for only his family.

                                "But you haven't," John said because he firmly believed Sherlock was doing his best and he couldn't possibly complain about that. "You've been here as often as you can be and that's wonderful." He leaned closer and planted a soft kiss to Sherlock's chin. "You don't have to worry about me. I have Hamish to keep me company." He assured him as he pulled away. "I love being around him. He's my son." Christ, he did miss Victor though. That was why he didn't reply back to him. Because admitting it out loud would make the ache in his chest seem even worse.

                                "John, you're stuck too." Sherlock slipped two fingers under John's chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "You have to admit how you feel. You can't keep pretending everything is okay and neither can I. We both miss Victor but his absence has hurt you most of all because you needed his comfort. Comfort I don't provide you." He let his fingers slide over to cup his husbands' cheek, his entire body softening. "But I am going to try. But I can't help you if you lie to yourself about how you feel. Tell me the truth John, tell me the words you don't want to say. They won't hurt me." John didn't want to stop lying to himself. He really wanted to just continue on as if everything was perfect because he wasn't sure he could function properly if he admitted how he truly felt. But if Sherlock was going to try to help him through this he need to just confess what was wrong. If he kept quiet things would never get better. He needed to speak up now or never.

                                "I miss him," he whispered. "I miss having him around so much. He used to come around more when Hamish was baby just to help out but he was here. He comforted me. He held me while I was holding Hamish and that felt so much better than holding Hamish alone." He hated this, there were tears in his eyes and he felt like crawling away and hiding. He shouldn't miss Victor so much. He shouldn't have relied on him this heavily. "Now he has Alex and they love each other so much that he never has time to come around, which is fine... It's good that he has his own life but I just miss him, Sherlock. He was my friend."

                                "He was more than that." Sherlock whispered and he led John into their room. He closed and locked the door, turning on Hamish's room monitor so they could hear him if he needed them. He sat John on the bed and knelt down before him, holding his hands rightly with his own. His face betrayed his emotion, open and vulnerable in front of the only person he trusted.  "He sort of abandoned us. He ran away and we had no time to prepare. Neither of us were ready. And because I don't know how to cope I drug you into my wild crazy mind again. I ran after cases to keep busy because the feelings made me want to use again. To find some way to quiet my mind and ease the pain. I forgot that the best answer was right here, suffering himself, and bending over backwards to keep me happy. I have done you and Hamish both a horrible disservice. I haven't made you talk to me. But that changes now. It's okay to miss him John. I miss him too. But we have to stop running from that." A tear slid down his cheek and he rested his head in John's lap shuddering with a quiet sob. "Forgive me John. Please. I will be here to hold you and Hamish. I will be here when you need me. I swear it. Please..." John's heart broke at the sight of Sherlock crying. He was doing that far too much for John's liking. Something was very wrong with this. Something was upsetting Sherlock too much. He never wanted his husband to be this upset.

                                "Sherlock, love." He whispered, running his fingers through his hair. "Sherlock, hush. I'm not angry with you. I'm truly not. You don't have to ask me for forgiveness because I'm not mad." It was the truth; John didn't blame Sherlock for being himself. That was one of the many reasons why he loved him. "I understand how you can get, it doesn't upset me, I just wish I could keep up with you all the time but I can't, I accepted that a long time ago and I will never blame you for my inability."

                                "You have to tell me. I can't read emotions... Well not all of them. Even... No especially from you." He whispered. He felt miserable, like a child. "You are the only one allowed to or who should be able to tell me to stop. I can't watch you hurt like this anymore. You have to tell me. Promise me." He leaned up, claiming John's lips in a heated kiss. "My mind is on edge. I need to touch you before I go crazy. Let me show you how much I mean what I'm saying." He whispered as a plea, his hands sliding through John's hair. The doctor felt the breath taken away the second their lips locked. He gasped and tried to catch his breath when they separated. It was so hard to keep up with him. One moment his husband was crying, the next he was trying to prove a point with his touch.

                                "Okay," He said breathlessly because his mind couldn't produce a proper sentence. "Okay... Whatever you need to do." He stammered, "That's exactly what I want." He nodded quickly before their lips met again and it was just as breathtaking as the first time. "Christ, we don't do this enough." He muttered between kisses.

                                "No..." Sherlock whispered, pulling back just enough their lips broke. "Not what I need to do. What you need me to do." He looked worried. "This isn't just about me John. You have needs too. I have never been good at meeting them but I am going to try harder. So..." He paused and licked his lips slightly, lowering himself back down so John was in the dominant position. "Right now, in this moment what do you need John Watson-Holmes?" He shook with ragged breath. He desperately wanted whatever touch John wanted. But he wanted to touch him. "Tell me what you need." John felt his heart pound at the change of position and flutter with fear at what should have been a simple question. Why was that so hard to answer? That question should be easy to answer but words were failing him. He hadn't thought about what he needed in such a long time. His needs became whatever Sherlock's were, maybe that was unhealthy but honestly he'd never minded. He ran his hands down Sherlock's chest as he tried to gather what exactly he thought he needed.

                                "I-I don't know." He whispered and he hated admitting that. "I haven't thought about my own needs in so long, Sherlock. But that's not your fault," He whispered seeing Sherlock's face tense. "It was a subconscious decision." He moved his hands to Sherlock's hair and he brought their lips together. "My needs sort of just melted into yours." He breathed against the soft pair of lips. "If you need to touch me, then I need your touch. It's that simple. It may be very unhealthy but that's what I need."

                                "That's..." Sherlock kissed him hard. "Very unhealthy. Tell me what you are feeling." He kissed down over John's jaw and onto his neck but with gentle, passionate but loving kisses instead of his usual hard, fast, 'mark him as mine' style. He was going to worship John. To remind him he was worth everything he needed. John let out a gasp at the kisses on his neck. They were so different than usual. This was tender, gentle kisses. These were the type kisses they honestly never spend enough time on. John could only recount a few times where they'd taken things slow and easy: their honeymoon, one winter by the fire in the living room, and once after a particularly bad case where John had almost lost his life. He leaned into them a soft smile on his face.

                                "I feel like I want you to keep doing that," He whispered and then he let out a giggle at the realization his needs weren't completely forgotten. He simply needed direction to consider them. "There's something I need." He said with a grin. Sherlock readily obliged, suckling gently over John's neck. He moaned softly at the taste of his skin, his hands caressing his back, shoulders, and back up into his hair. He kissed to the other side before kissing up to his ear.

                                "I love you, John. I always will." He whispered, his tongue flicking over his ear lobe. "You taste so amazing." John's eyes fluttered closed and a moan escaped his lips.

                                "I love you too. Nothing in the world will make that change." He said breathlessly before he brought his lips to Sherlock's neck and started to leave the same kind of passionate but gentle kisses. "I'll always be yours. I'll always love you. I'll always want you. Always... Just like it says on my wedding ring." Sherlock let out a soft but deep needy groan as John kissed him. He broke away from John's neck for the moment letting himself enjoy his loves touch.

                                "Oh John..." He whispered breathlessly. "Tell me more... Tell me what you are feeling... I... I need to hear it." He shuddered as another moan escaped him.

                                "I love you," John told him again and he didn't know how it actually started but their hips were rocking together. "Fuck, I love you so much, Sherlock." He really did and it amazed him how the love for this man seemed to grow with each passing day. "If you need to hear how I am feeling: I feel like I am the luckiest man in the world to be with you." He bit Sherlock's neck, just once, he simply couldn't resist and he was rewarded with a moan and an actual whimper. "I get to call you mine and that is the best thing in the world." John said with just a bit of growl in his voice.

                                "I am far luckier than you are. What you have done for me..." He gasped as John's hands wound in his hair again. "What you have done... Is... More..." His thoughts were derailed as John tugged gently. He closed his eyes. "John..." He panted, melting against him, their hips still rocking together.

                                "Let's get your clothes off," John practically growled as he pulled away to yank the t-shirt over Sherlock's head and toss it to the floor. "Now these," He whispered as he pulled off his pajama bottoms. "You're not wearing any pants, naughty." He teased as he straddled his lap and kissed him hard on the mouth. He was getting too aroused to keep things gentle anymore. "I need you, Sherlock." He moaned into his mouth in between heated kisses. 

                                "Christ, John..." Sherlock whimpered. It had been a long time since John had been this dominating and to have it twice in one day was sort of like Christmas had come early. "Your... Your clothes... Need to come off." He stuttered, John's needy mouth stopping him from forming coherent thoughts. He'd forgotten what it was like when his husband truly needed something, especially when that something was Sherlock. His mind was utterly blank, all his doubt forgotten as he melted into John's care. "God, take me." He uttered breathlessly, blushing just slightly - surprised by the neediness in his own tone as he spoke. "Take what you need from me..." He pleaded, meeting the kisses with as much passion as he received, his hips bucking up against John on his lap. John grinned into their next kiss. He was in control. He wasn't sure how it had shifted to be this way again but he was loving it. So when Sherlock started to grind up into his lap, he giggled and moved a little higher.

                                "Oh no you don't. I won't make it that easy for you." He purred as he ran his fingers through those brunette locks and tugged on it just a little. The whimper that escaped him made John suck in his own breath. "You are so fucking gorgeous." He growled as he crawled off him and began to strip. "Keep your hands to yourself." He ordered grinning. "You can touch me when I give you permission." Sherlock almost whined and it was as shocking to him as it was to John, judging by the look on John's face. Sherlock didn't just need John he was fucking desperate. His fingers clawed into the bed as he watched John strip with rapt attention. His body tensing and shivering because the withdrawal of touch was driving him mad.

                                "Please..." He begged, his voice caught in his throat. He followed John's every move like a man who had suddenly seen water in the desert; he was achingly hard and could see the glistening bead of moisture that betrayed just how aroused he was. His breath moved hard and unevenly through his chest as he focused his entire awareness on his lover. "Please John..." He shuddered. "Please Captain, touch me..." He begged again, his cheeks flushed with pink because he knew how desperate he sounded. He felt dirty but it also thrilled him to admit how much he wanted this. "Use me. Take from me whatever you desire." John's eyes were dark with lust now; he sat on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. He couldn't even begin to understand how he 'd warranted this reaction from Sherlock but it aroused his entire being. When he begged to be touched John only let out a soft laugh and rested a hand on his knee. He didn't move it anywhere else, simply resting there a while. He enjoyed watching his lover squirm. Being with Sherlock had turned his dominate side from the original compassionate master into a very teasing one. He moved his hands up Sherlock's leg, licking his lip when Sherlock let out a needy moan.

                                "My touch still does that much for you?" He asked still having trouble believing it. 

                                "Yes," Sherlock forced out, whimpering again. "Whenever you touch me it just... It makes me stop. It's... Why I..." He panted, trying to beat his mind into submission. He closed his eyes but it only made the touch more intense. "Why I stay... Distant still when I'm on cases..." He trembled. "You haven't touched.... Me... Like this in so long..." His eyes opened and turned to John's pleading. "Please, Captain, please don't stop."

                                "You say that like it's my fault." John hummed as he placed his other hand on Sherlock's thigh. "It's not my fault you weren't here for me to you touch you." He said with a bit of pout. "Even when you were here you didn't want me to touch you because of cases." His hand reached Sherlock's length where he took it in hand and began to stroke him gently. "I want to touch you like this every day, Sherlock... I hope you never think otherwise."

                                "Not... Your... Fault." Sherlock groaned. He fought not to start grinding into John's hands. "My fault..." He whispered, moaning loudly. He bit down on his hand to keep from shouting too loud. "Oh God... John... I... I know..." He grunted. "I wish you did... Touch me... Every... Day." He clawed into the bed, moaning louder.

                                "I wish you'd stay here all the time so I could." John whispered as he climbed on top of Sherlock. He brought his fingers through his hair, yanking on it but not too tightly. "I need you inside me," He moaned not being able to stop himself once he felt Sherlock's length pressing near his entrance. "I want your cock inside me right now, Sherlock." He ordered bringing his lips to his chest and leaving bite mark. "I want to ride you." Sherlock moaned loudly his eyes full of arousal and lust as he looked over his husband. The way John was talking was driving him insane.

                                "Oh God, please..." He whimpered, which wasn't at all what he intended to say. But his body overrode his logic. "I want you... So badly..." He trembled and arched under John as he tugged his tender hair again. He loved how John never forgot a single detail about him. How he knew exactly how to control him in every situation. He wanted to touch him but he'd not been given permission. "Please let me touch you... Please..."

                                "Oh, I forgot." John said with a laugh because once he was being dominate he could sort of forget the orders he gave Sherlock. It was really cruel and sometimes he would pretend to forget just to tease his husband even more. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He said with a smile as he grabbed his husband's hand and brought it to his chest. "Touch me." He ordered as he gazed into his eyes. "Touch me like it could possibly be the last time." He said the words without thinking, his mind completely overwhelmed by lust.

                                "Oh don't..." Sherlock whimpered but his hands were all over John. He pulled him down into a passionate kiss, kissing him with everything he had. He didn't like the thought of it possibly being the last time because this time almost hadn't happened. He clung to John his hands roaming all over his back, neck, arms, and shoulders. Drawing him closer with desperation. The sort of desperation that Sherlock always felt when John had been in danger or injured. The kind that threatened to drown them both in his pure emotion. "I'll die without you..." He forced out between kisses.

                                "Sh." John said when they pulled apart because he didn't want to think about that either. "Don't think about that. I shouldn't have even mentioned it." He laced his fingers in Sherlock's hair and held it as he gazed into Sherlock's eyes. "I love you. So much. You know that? Even when you’re on your cases and you can't remember anything else, you have to remember that." He kissed him once more as hard as he could trying to show his husband just how much he loved him. "I want you to always remember that. Just for me, Sherlock. You can't forget that."

                                "I can't forget..." Sherlock groaned between kisses, his hands still roaming over John's body. "You make me eat, remind me or force me to shower, bring me things I need..." He panted. "You take care of me, you make it so I can still thrive even when I'm lost in my mind. No one else has ever done that. No one else has ever loved me like you do." He pulled him down and kissed him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it slowly. "You're the sun at the center of my world. I'm sorry I haven't shown you that more frequently."

                                "Sh, it's okay. I don't need you to show me all the time. I know you do." John wasn't sure how exactly it happened but Sherlock's length was pressing more into him and it was driving him mad. If they weren't careful he would push inside. "Fuck, stop." He panted as he leaned over to the bedside table. He grabbed the lube and handed it to Sherlock. "Please, I can't take it anymore, Sherlock. I need you." He brought his lips to his ear, sucking on the love gently. "Fuck, come on. I haven't had you in so long." Sherlock whimpered when John made him stop but took the lube and clicked it open. He dumped out the necessary amount and made John lift up so he could coat himself with it. He toyed with himself as he did, moaning and bucking gently into his own hand, just to tease John. He panted and looked up into John's eyes.

                                "I've prepared myself for you, you said you wanted to ride me." He smirked. "Take what you need." He moved so his slicked fingers slipped inside John, teasing him as he pulled him down into another kiss. He was determined to make John take what he wanted. John, who was absolutely desperate, growled and yanked on Sherlock's hair.

                                "Stop being such a fucking a tease, Sherlock." He growled. "I can't take it. You have no idea what you do to me. How long I have gone without your touch. You can't tease me with little touches like that. That's just cruel." Without warning he sunk down onto Sherlock's length with a moan. He released his grip on his hair and brought his hands to his chest where he dung his nails in. "Fuck," he gasped as he felt himself being stretched. "I am going to take what I need, Sherlock. I need this. You have no idea how badly I need this but if you try to tease me again I'll tie your hands up." He warned as he started to rock his hips on top of his husband.

                                "Oh... Fuck, John." Sherlock growled, panting hard. His heart pounding in his chest, because he hadn't expected John to need him this much. He bucked his hips up to meet John's motions, shuddering from the feel of how tight John was around him. "God yes, take it. Use me." He gasped the words breathless with his arousal. He let his hands run down John's chest until his found his erection, wrapping his hand tightly around him, so each motion John made pumped Sherlock's hand over that aching cock. "Like this?" He growled. "Come on, use me."

                                "Fuck, stop!" John moaned, grabbing Sherlock's hand and forcing it away from his length. "No, no, I want to make this last for as long as possible. If you do that I won't last long." He moved his hands up to Sherlock's shoulders and griped them tightly as he continued to move on top of him. "You want to be used? You like being used? I think you're starting to like being submissive, Sherlock. Took you a while but I think you enjoy it more than I do." He teased and when he felt Sherlock dig his nails into his hips he gasped and let out a laugh. "Don't take it out on me, it's not my fault you like it so much." He grinned down at Sherlock, knowing how much the teasing was bothering him.

                                "Fuck..." He groaned, trying to move his arms but they were pinned. John had gotten stronger. A fluttering feeling rolled through his stomach and it made him whimper. John was right, he felt like he deserved to be used. John had been growing more comfortable in his dominating behavior and Sherlock was keen to explore it. "You're right... I like it." He panted, breathless as John's motions tormented him. "Please don't stop... Don't go easy on me." He begged, closing his eyes and flushing slightly. "God, John, please..."

                                "Oh, I can't stop. Even If I wanted to, I can't. That's how far gone I am." He groaned. John kept a very firm grip on Sherlock's arms, grinning down at him. "This is what you do to me. This is what being without you for so long makes me want to do." He was moving his hips even faster now. He had broken out into a sweat and his whole body was a flushed. "Fuck," He moaned as he lowered his head for one moment. His dominate need slipped and he groaned because he was starting to wear out. His moans were starting to sound like whines and whimpers but he kept moving his hips furiously on Sherlock. His grip relaxed as his eyes fluttered closed and he whimpered again. "Sherlock," He panted, hoping that Sherlock would understand he needed his husband to move, to take over. He really didn't feel like asking, or begging, or commanding anymore he just simply needed this.  Sherlock groaned and gripped John's hips a bit harder, pushing up into him.

                                "So beautiful..." He muttered the appraisal, sitting up slightly to change the angle of his thrusts. "Oh you're so tight John. God yes," He whispered, his hands fluttering over John. "Come apart with me." His body moved relentlessly, almost as if it had a mind of its own. He growled and moaned, just letting the noises come without trying to stop them. "God if you don't move those hips more I'm going to flip you over and pound you into this bed." His voice was a growl of desire as he spoke.

John let out a breathless laugh.

                                "You say that like it's supposed to be threat." He moaned as Sherlock kept hitting that glorious spot over and over again. "Do it." He ordered, moving a hand to Sherlock's hair and gripping it tightly. "Take me. I want you to remind me who I belong to you, Sherlock." He met Sherlock's lips with his own, biting and sucking on his lower lip before he pulled away with a grin. "You better do as I say. I am you're Captain. If you don't listen to an order I'll make you sit on the edge of the bed and watch me finish this all by myself." Sherlock did not need to be told again, he braced one foot on the bed and easily flipped the two of them over. His hands pressed down on John's hips with a bruising pressure as he pounded into him. The sound their hips made when they contacted was loud and messy. His face was flushed with desperation and desire, as he held John so his back was arched just slightly off the bed so he could keep pressure on that delicate spot that made him shiver. He leaned forward capturing John's mouth in a violent, bruising kisses.

                                "God you're so bloody desperate." He whispered against his lips, sweat forming on his brow. "You're mine. You always have been. I'm going to break you!" He shouted but in a whisper, grunting and arching back up as the delicious sensations rolled through him. "Oh God you're clenching me so hard!" John was an utter mess, shivering and gripping the sheets tightly. He had lost the ability to speak so he just moaned and whimpered, not able to control it. At the promise of being broken, he did break. He shattered into a million pieces as Sherlock spilled inside him. He came with a loud moan of his husband's name and then his breath was stolen from him. It felt like his breath was gone for so long he worried he would never start breathing again but finally, it was over and he could catch his breath. He panted and released his grip on the sheets.

                                "Oh, oh my... Sherlock." He gasped, sounding desperate as he reached for his touch. "Let me hold you." Sherlock whined again, still caught off guard by the noise as he almost completely collapsed on John. His arms shook, barely holding him up. It took several minutes before he could even shift enough to slip out of John and the slight movement sent him gently down on top of his lover.

                                "Oh... John..." He panted, his head resting on John's chest. His curls damp with sweat and his entire body shivering. He felt his mind start to slide back into function and he realized there was a huge wave of emotion pooling in his belly. One he was too weak to stop. Tears came and leaked down his cheeks and onto John's chest as he clung to him, weakly and utterly boneless but deeply affected. One of his hands slowly, shaking as it did, made its way up to John's cheek as he turned his eyes upwards. "I love you..." He whispered. "God I do." At the sight of the tears in Sherlock's eyes, John's heart began to ache and tears started to blur his own eyes.

                                "I know you do." He whispered and then damned himself because that wasn't what he meant. "I know you do and I love you too. So much." He wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Don't cry, love. You've cried so much tonight and I hate that I can't make it stop." He kissed the top of his head, not caring if it was sweaty. "I hate when you cry. It tears me apart." He rubbed Sherlock's back in slow circles, hoping he could sooth him.

                                "I can't stop it because I've held it in so long." He whispered, nuzzling into John's neck almost childishly. He clung to John, pulling their bodies as close as possible.

                                 "You don't have to hold it in. Ever. If you ever feel like you have to break down you can with me, okay?" John whispered smiling just a bit when he felt Sherlock's nose rubbing into his neck. He loved this man so much partly because he was so beautifully childish.

                                “It terrifies me when you get hurt because I can't imagine a day in this world without you. You're my anchor. You keep me grounded and rooted." Sherlock was whispering, blushing slightly. He still wasn't used to the amount of sentiment that John inspired in him. "I'm okay..." He promised, his nails digging lightly into John's chest. "I just need you to be okay too. No more lying to me about your feelings."

                                “I'm sorry, I won't lie again. But in my defense I didn't know I was lying in the first place. I was lying to myself too, Sherlock. I thought it would be easier that way." He continued to run his hands up and down Sherlock's smooth back; it was what he did to comfort his husband. That or run his fingers through his hair but he was really too weak to even move his arms any higher than where they were resting. "I'm okay. In this moment. I am truly and blissfully happy."

                                "I would hope so." Sherlock smiled, still nuzzling his nose against John. Using the motion to inhale and memorize the scent that made up his husband all over again. "It's too easy for you to hide your feelings. I know it's my fault." He sighed softly, he was utterly exhausted. "You always look so beautiful when you orgasm under me." He teased, pressing soft kisses over John's ear. John felt his cheeks warm and he knew his face was red for a completely different reason now. It was still amazing that Sherlock could make him blush like this, after all this time he still couldn't stop himself from reacting that way. He gave a sigh of content at the kisses, a smile on his lips.

                                "You look beautiful always." He whispered, turning his head so he could kiss Sherlock's neck and shoulder. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I love when you look like this. So… Open and vulnerable. You're only like this with me." Sherlock blushed just a bit, his eyes meeting John's.

                                "You're the only one I can be like this with," He confessed, the blush deepening slightly. His eyes searched John's, trying to figure out everything about the moment before him. "I don't know what I'm doing... You gave me your heart and your life and I just... I'm like Hamish. I'm a child with the world's greatest treasure balanced in my ill prepared hands." He finally looked away, looking a bit ashamed. "I thought by now I would have figured out how to carefully protect you and keep you at my side. How to make you always smile that beautiful smile you get when you're truly happy... But I haven't. I wake next to you each morning and I feel like I have this tender balloon in my chest that could be punctured at any moment because I can't take care of you properly... Do... Do you feel like that? How do you deal with it?" His voice was still soft, almost a terrified whispers as he confessed his own inadequacies and begged John for confirmation. John frowned, he hated when Sherlock sounded so scared and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he could physically do to protect Sherlock when the problem was emotional.

                                 "I can't say I feel exactly like that but I do understand what you're saying. When I wake up in the morning... I just have this ache in my chest that when I open my eyes that you won't be there. And I don't mean that in terrible way, I just mean out on a case. It's happened so many times and at first it didn't bother me but now it's become a fear." He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache and tightening in his chest. "I hate waking up alone. I think Hamish knows it too because whenever you're not here, somehow he ends up in our bed. I think he hears you leave so he runs down here to keep me company." He sucked in a breath, trying to swallow the sob. "When you're not here I feel like... It's those three years all over again. Maybe I have just grown too attached to you but even if we're apart for just a few hours, I start getting the same ache in my chest. But I force myself to push the ache down because if I don't I won't be able to take care of Hamish and I won't be able to take care of you. It's all so overwhelming but I would never trade it for anything because you two are the loves of my life and I can't be without either of you."

                                "Oh John," Sherlock whispered softly and moved so he was leaning up over John, his eyes burning into his husband's. "What have I done to you?" He whispered, leaning down and claiming John's mouth with a soft, deeply emotional kiss. "You shouldn't have to feel that way..." He searched John's eyes again, tilting his head slightly - the way a child or a dog might when they try to understand something they don't normally come across. "From now on I won't get up until you're up unless I absolutely have to. If I do, I'll make sure you understand that it will be that way before we fall asleep the night before. I'll try to be better about making sure I go to bed with you too. I don't want you to feel that ache. I never want you to feel that fear again." John was still crying, he didn't know why. He just couldn't stop. It was pathetic but talking about waking up alone and that ache he felt in his chest made him start to weep. Just like he had wanted to when he felt that ache but he couldn't because Hamish was there. He still tried to push away the emotion because he hated to be crying in front of Sherlock. He had enough on his mind and this wasn't helping. He wiped his tears away and looked away from Sherlock for a few moments. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

                                "Thank you," he whispered, his voice soft and thick with tears. "Really. That will help me so much." Why couldn't he stop crying? Sherlock had promised to try to be here for him. That should be enough to make this stop. “I'm sorry," He whimpered feeling ashamed for being a sobbing mess.

                                "Don't be." Sherlock sat up some and pulled John with him, moving their bodies so John was now leaning against his chest. "Let it out, John. It's okay." He ran his hands soothingly over John's back. "You've held this all in too long. It's alright John, I've got you." He nuzzled his nose into John's hair, letting his own emotion show. Trying to show John it was okay for him to feel. "Talk to me, tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Let me help you with this." John was now holding on to Sherlock tightly, a few sobs escaping his lips before he could even properly answer.

                                "What I'm thinking currently is that you're under enough stress worrying about me and this isn't helping." He felt awful. John knew that Sherlock didn't mind that he was getting emotional but that wasn't what mattered. "You'll spend hours brooding on this moment; worrying about how broken you've made me when it's not really your fault." He hugged Sherlock even tighter, wishing he could be stronger than this. "I should be stronger; I used to be the stronger one. I'm a solider. I should be able to push all this nonsense aside. I don't want you to worry about me, ever."

                                "I worry about you every moment of every day, John." Sherlock whispered, pulling John more into his lap. "I always will, just like you worry about me. I will brood on this but not because I think it's my entire fault. Rather I'll do it because I want to make sure you never have to feel this sad again. You don't have to be anything other than you are, John... My John..." He whispered, carding his hands through John's hair. "I am okay and will be okay if you let these feelings out. But if you hold it all in, if you shove it all away I won't be okay..." He sighed softly, trying to figure out how to say what he meant properly. "I need to see you feel in order to learn how to feel myself, John. If you keep pushing your emotions away both of your boys will do the same. We all have to be honest about how we feel. Please, don't bottle this up... Tell me everything. Talk all night if you need to. I'm right here and I'm not leaving."

John still had tears pouring out of his eyes but he wasn't sobbing anymore. He gazed into Sherlock's eyes, his mouth turned downward into a frown as he tried to even begin to come undone. He had been bottled up for so long he was honestly afraid of what would happen if he just let all that emotion come pouring out. But he had to. For Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock to be okay more than anything else in the world. He took a shaking breath and he rested his head on his shoulder, turning his head so his nose brushed against his neck.

                                 "We're not here enough. Either of us. Can you remember the last time we got to have a night in like this? I do... It was almost a month ago. We're not doing enough for him. Only one of us is with him half of the time. It's never the both of us. He's going to start to think we don't like to be around each other if only one of us is with him." He rambled.

                                "Yes I do remember. I count them." Sherlock whispered and it was true. He hated how infrequently they were home together like this. "You're right," He whispered quietly. "You've been left alone to handle all of this, Hamish, me, you, Victor leaving... All of it." He let his hands slide up and down John's back, encouraging him. "I've let the Yard become too dependent on me solving cases and I've become too dependent on needing them. On running away from the emotion of all of this. He worries, just like you. Would it be better if we made a sort of schedule? Maybe if we assign a certain night as our date night and have at least three other nights a week we're home by a certain time with him, no excuses, things would be better?"

                                "Yes," John said nodding quickly. He lifted his face so he could look into Sherlock's eyes properly. "I need that. He needs that. I don't ever want him to feel lonely. I felt lonely when I was about his age. No child should feel that way. They should feel bombarded with love and affection - which we give him but I don't think we give him enough. That's why I want this Christmas to be perfect, Sherlock. I want the flat to be covered with gifts; I don't care if that's spoiling him. Last year we didn't get him enough. This year I want to give him more than enough because he has been such a good boy. I've never seen a child as well behaved as he is. Well despite the little pranks he likes to pull on Mycroft." He was laughing now and it felt like a miracle. He could slowly feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders

                                "Then we will. I will fill this flat top to bottom if I have too. I will talk to Greg and let him know that I can't just run off all the time anymore. Anderson has been doing better at collecting forensics maybe I can really become more of a consultant... But I can fix this. I know I can. We can talk to Mrs. Hudson in the morning and find out if she will even let us have a dog. If she says yes I will consider getting him one." John gave a soft smile.

                                "You'll consider it." He corrected playfully. "I have already made my mind up and if Mrs. Hudson says yes, you're the only one who has to do any considering about anything." He felt the ache in his chest begin to fade away and he rubbed his nose with Sherlock's. "If you get dogs at a young age, they grow up with you so they won't be vicious or anything. I had a puppy, well, mom wouldn't let us bring him into the house but he was a puppy. I kept him a nice place outside. I fed him. He was my best friend when I was little."

                                "You make it sound like you want a puppy more than our son." Sherlock smiled softly, still holding John close.  John blushed at the comment, maybe he did, and he may or may not have given Hamish the idea about having a puppy. He just couldn't help himself; he's always wanted a real family pet. "Ah so it was you." Sherlock grinned, "It's all over your face." He chuckled again. "Next you'll want us to move to the country." He was teasing, his smile wide as he kissed John softly. "But it's going to be another person you have to take care of." He warned carefully. "You'll have a full house at this rate." He sighed and leaned his head back, letting his thoughts run as they wanted to.

                                 "No it wasn't," John tried to lie, hiding his blushing face in Sherlock's neck. "And for the record, moving to the country wouldn't suit us... Somewhere bigger though maybe." He mumbled and it was almost inaudible. John had been guilty of thinking of getting another place in London just in case they ever adopted another child.

                                 "So what were you texting Victor about earlier?" Sherlock asked, knowing that John wasn’t ready to talk about his mumblings which he heard perfectly. "And don't say you weren't. He and I are the only ones you text after it gets dark."

                                "After it gets dark? You make it sound like I'm texting for a shag." He giggled; he honestly did feel more relaxed now. He didn't feel any weariness about anything for the moment. Talking about it really did help. He should have known it would. It always did but he somehow forgot every time. "But, if you must know I was talking about you. How you were acting at dinner was worrying me and I was talking to him about it."

                                "I would have read your texts after you went to sleep anyway, you should know that by now. I have been worried John. I feel like I'm not enough for you. The way you've missed Victor hasn't helped. I never expected the two of you to grow as close as you did and it made me worry that you choose the wrong lover to keep." He shrugged and spun his ring for just a moment or two before stopping. "We both are insecure in this. We both are scared we're doing the wrong thing. If you had someone from your past like Victor I might have been texting them myself. I don't blame you."

                                "I know you don't. And I don't feel guilty about texting him, he's really the only person I can go to who understands you like I do." John brushed his lips over Sherlock's cheek. "If we both knew how to talk to each other properly, we wouldn't worry about each other so bloody so much." He sighed, running a hand over Sherlock's chest. "But I didn't choose the wrong lover. You're the only one I want to be with. You're my husband. I miss our time with Victor but you're my world. I can live without him, I can't live without you."

                                 “We both have to try to talk to each other more. We can't do anymore of this stuffing our feelings away. Hamish needs to see what positive role models look like. Which means you also have to stop pretending you don't have feelings. I'm the cold machine remember, not you." He lifted John's chin and kissed him softly. John kissed him back, all the wonderful emotions he felt pouring into it before he pulled away.

                                "I don't do that exactly, I just pretend I don't have any of the sad feelings." At the firm look Sherlock gave him he sighed, "Which I will try not to do anymore." He promised. Sherlock, knowing that John wanted to talk about something else, smirked and ran a hand through that dirty blonde hair. This would be a perfect time to bring up his husband’s mumblings.

                                "Just how big do you intend our family to be, John Watson-Holmes?" He grinned and held John closer. "We can't leave Mrs. Hudson, we need her. England needs her." He chuckled again.

                                "I don't know,” John lied obviously, “I'm worried about telling you, I'm not sure how you'd react." He confessed. "But if we ever did move, that amazing woman is moving with us. She's like Hamish's grandmother."

                                "For the record she is Hamish's grandmother."  Sherlock said with nod before he smirked. "Ah, but you didn't answer my question." He teased and gently tickled John's ribs, the one spot that was ticklish on the man. "How big are you intending our family to be? Because I can't work a normal job and I certainly can't be away from you long enough to try." He kissed him as he giggled.

                                "Stop!" John guffawed loudly when he was tickled in that one damn place Sherlock always new how to find. "Stop tickling me you bloody devil and I'll tell you." He promised and then they were kissing. John couldn't stop the laughs from coming as they kissed. "Stop!" He pleaded and finally Sherlock stopped tickling that spot and he could breathe again. "Don't tickle me, I hate it." He insisted with a smile. "And if I must answer that question," He brought a hand to Sherlock's hair, gently rubbing his scalp, "Maybe one or two more children. That's all. I don't think I could handle more than that. Three children. Sounds perfect to me. Two would be amazing as well. I just know I'll need one more to be happy." Sherlock chuckled low.

                                "First it was me, then me and Hamish, then Hamish, me and a dog... Now it's one or two more?" He rolled them so he was over John, attacking his neck with kisses and love nips. "Demanding aren't we?" He teased but he was smirking. "I don't know John, we'll have to see. Maybe once Hamish is in school." He kissed him more deeply. "You are simply adorable." John gazed up at Sherlock a bright smile on his lips.

                                 "You're the adorable one, remember? You're the one who brought Hamish home in the first place. We had only been considering children and then you bring him home and he's ours in two days. That was you. I should at least get to find and bring one home too." He teased. John ran his hands over Sherlock's back, gently scratching his back. The consulting detective blushed a bit as he remembered. It had been rather rash.

_The crime scene had been almost silent once the bodies had been removed. They hadn't gotten there quickly enough to stop the murders. Sherlock heard something, a faint crying. He furrowed his brow as he looked around trying to follow the noise. Then suddenly Greg was talking._

_"Shut up Lestrade! All of you shut up now!" Sherlock demanded, sweeping around like a cat looking for a mouse. John had almost giggled until Sherlock shot him that look. It had been such a dark look too. Then all of a sudden Sherlock knelt down and yanked up a piece of the rug revealing a trap door. He yanked the door open and a very young boy was there sobbing his little eyes out. Sherlock scooped him up in one tender motion and bounced him gently. "Hush little one, it's okay now." He whispered ignoring the look of shock on both John and Greg's faces as the baby stopped crying. The medics checked the child over and announced him to be in fine health. Greg tried to take him from Sherlock but Sherlock had growled at him. John was getting them a cab._

_"Let us take care of him until his relatives are found..." Sherlock insisted._

_"Sherlock I can't..."_

_"You can and will." Sherlock corrected him. "And if they're not found we'll adopt him."_

_"Sherlock you don't..."_

_"I know everything about him there is to know."_

_Then when no one had come forward and Greg phoned to say they could keep him, well... John had been at the store and when he came back Sherlock was waiting._

_"John, Hamish is ours. No one else has claimed him so we've adopted him." Sherlock was bouncing him and the little boy was laughing._

 

                                 "Wouldn't you want a baby girl?" Sherlock suddenly heard John ask, his husband already had that same dreamy look he had in his eyes when he saw Hamish.

                                "I wouldn't know what to do with a girl, John... But don't you think the stress would be a lot for you right now?" He whispered, he wasn't against the idea he just wanted to be a bit more rational about it. "Does Hamish want a sibling?"

                                "I'm not saying we get one right now. Maybe in a year or so." John explained. Sometimes he wanted to be rash but there was still some logic in him. "And I haven't talked to him about it yet. Right now I think he's comfortable with just us, but, if we start giving him some time to warm up to the idea, he may like it." He smiled softly up at his husband, trying to peruse him into at least consider it. "They say girls are the easier ones to raise. Boys are the trouble makers; girls are the one who behave. And wouldn't Hamish make a fantastic big brother? He's so smart and when I take him to the park, he always stops to help the smaller children."  

                                "So precious." Sherlock smirked and ran his hands through John's hair. "Alright, we'll talk about it. But we're going to have to really see how having a set schedule works. Having two young children with me running off on cases will be the death of you. The things I let you convince me to do..." He smirked but he liked the idea some himself. "So what else am I going to be agreeing to this evening?"

                                "I think you're going to agree to get some rest and possibly go shopping for me tomorrow afternoon? I can stay with Hamish while you get him some more gifts?" He rubbed his nose to Sherlock's, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Oh, maybe I'll go and find us a tree, or should we do that together? We did that together last year. Maybe we can decorate together and it all still counts." John was rambling now, his mind now lost in what was about to come when the sun rose. "We should already have a tree but we go so busy that I'm just now thinking about it. I hope we still have all our ornaments and lights." Sherlock put his hands firmly on John's shoulders to make him stop talking for a moment.

                                "We can go get a tree together in the morning. We'll take him to the breakfast place he likes so much before we go. Then we can go pick out a tree and you two can decorate it while I go shopping. The ornaments and lights are in a box in Hamish's closet." Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "I'll stay here and hold you, but I'm not likely to sleep tonight love. My mind is too full."

                                "Sounds like a good plan. I can never make proper plans like that so quickly." John kissed his cheek gently before moving to curl up next to him, his arms wrapping around him and his head resting on his chest. "I wish you could sleep, you haven't slept in a few days, love." He whispered, his nose nuzzling his chest. "I won't force you though, I'm pretty sure that's impossible." He giggled. "I don't see how your mind is full of anything considering my mind is only focused on the fact my body is still a little sore from what we did a little earlier."

                                "My mind is always full, John." Sherlock kissed the top of his head and held him close. Enjoying the feel of their bodies wrapped together. "I know I haven't slept, I can feel the crash of exhaustion on the horizon." He sighed. "I'm still too anxious from knowing how dangerously close I was to losing you today." He was comfortable and he lowered his voice as he spoke, trying to lull John to sleep without making him worry more. "I'll be alright. I promise I'll try." John's eyes were already closed and he could hardly make out what Sherlock was saying. He did hear something about promising to sleep so he chuckled and shook his head.

                                "Liar." He mumbled. "I bet I'll have to carry you to bed tomorrow before Hamish." His words faded away as he started to drift to sleep.  "W-Wake me if you…" He couldn't finish his sentence. He was already asleep in his husbands arms a relaxed smile on his lips. Sherlock smiled and he continued to run his hands through John's hair for a long time. His thoughts racing here and there as he tried to sort everything out. John wanted another child, a girl... And a dog... Sherlock had been neglecting his family... He needed to be sure he was there more for them. On and on his brain went until John, still deeply asleep, slid his hand up onto Sherlock's chest over his heart. A warmth spread through his body at the feel of the gentle touch and without intending to he was slowly lulled to sleep exactly as he was sitting, one hand in John's hair and the other balled up against his chin, his index finger on his cheek. The exact position he remained in until he was woken the next morning.


	2. A Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John try to give Hamish one of the best mornings he's had in awhile, but as always work comes to call and Sherlock realizes just what the case is that he's been avoiding. With the truth in the open there is no way for Sherlock to refuse and he must entrust his ill husband, his son, and the safety of their Christmas to his brother while following his brother's husband into danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize for the delay in updating! I know Christmas is over but things just got wild for both of us. We've finished writing the story and are working on the edits to get this to you. I believe it was somewhere in this chapter that we switched control of Greg and Mycroft, as both of us have come to realize we prefer to play one versus the other! So from now on in all our writings Holly plays Mycroft and Cay plays Greg. -Holly

                When John woke the next morning it was because he heard a very familiar knocking on the door. That very light insistent knocking that would only become louder. Finally came the yell, 'Daddies!' He jumped up quickly, the door wasn't locked and neither of them were clothed.

                                "Coming, Mish. Just give me and Papa one second." John called hurrying to pull on his pants and fishing around for his shirt. However Hamish was his father's son and if the door was unlocked that meant there was no harm in waltzing straight into his parents' bedroom. John sighed with relief that at least he had his pants on as his son shoved the door open and waltzed in. John was about to scold Hamish but was unable to go through with it when he saw Hamish's wide smile. It was all he could do to smile back at him. "Good morning, 'Mish!" He greeted him, wrapping the boy in a tight hug when he ran over to him.

                                "Papa is still in bed?!" Hamish asked in awe, giggling as John hugged him.

                                "What?" Sherlock grunted, opening his eyes. He sat straight up, confusion straight on his face. His face hurt from the imprint his finger had left and he was very groggy. Hamish giggled more, watching as Sherlock winced a bit. He fell back on the bed, groaning and wrapping himself in the blankets.

                                "Daddy you look happy again! Did Papa make you happy?" The boy was all smiles and grins, his voice a little too loud. Sherlock looked mildly confused as his brain sorted out the fog that descended on him when he fell asleep unintentionally.

                                "Papa made him very happy." John said with a giggle as he kissed  Hamish's cheek.  "I think Papa is still half asleep," John said, pretending to be shocked. "Papa, look who's up." John hummed as he grabbed Sherlock's foot and shook it gently. "Look who got out of his bed to come and see us this morning, Papa." He said again urging Sherlock to get up. He moved to shake his foot again but he could see Sherlock finally beginning to properly wake. Hamish giggled and poked at Sherlock's foot. Sherlock blinked very slowly. He grunted and went to stand when he realized exactly what was going on. Which was lucky as he was still completely nude.

                                "I must have fallen asleep..." Sherlock muttered, his brain still not completely functioning. John smirked.

                                "He's silly." Hamish giggled himself silly. "I'm hungry, can we eat soon?"

                                "Daddy," Sherlock said groggily, forcing his brain into action. "Go get Hamish dressed so we can take him on our adventure." He grunted, running a hand over his face as he tried to fully wake up.

                                "An adventure?!" Hamish almost squealed. Sherlock groaned.

                                "Yes! My little Hobbit you're going adventure!" John said happily as he lifted Hamish into the air and placed him on his shoulders. "I suggest you take a shower to wake yourself up, darling." John hummed as he walked over to give Sherlock a gentle kiss. Of course, Hamish finding the entire thing gross pulled on John's hair to make him stop. "Mish! Don't do that." John giggled as he left the room to walk upstairs to their son's bedroom.

                                "Why do you always kiss Papa?" Hamish asked, pouting.

                                "Because I love your Papa." John explained simply as they ducked into Hamish's soft blue bedroom.

                Sherlock slowly pulled himself up as they left and struggled to find his balance. He was really out of it. It was worse than a hangover really and it was always like this when he slept without giving himself permission too. Damn John and his ability to lull Sherlock into a period of stasis. He rummaged about for clothes before moving in to the bathroom and flicking the shower on. He stood under the water for a good five minutes before he started to feel like he was functioning again. His brain was sluggish and slow, no doubt owing to the enjoyable amount of John he'd enjoyed the night before, but he found his thoughts drifting back to the case Greg had given him the night before. A case that Greg had been haunting him with for several years now. He wanted to solve it, to work it out so Greg could let it go but at the same time he found (not for the first time since marrying John) that the case was suddenly not as important. At least not nearly as important as ensuring that John and Hamish Watson-Holmes had one of the best mornings they'd had in a long time.  Surely Scotland Yard could handle themselves for once? Couldn't they? He sighed conceding to himself that they could not, but the case wouldn't be too much trouble if it waited a day would it? After all Sherlock was human. He finished his shower, dressing and fixing his hair before moving into the bedroom and beginning to make the bed. Just as he finished his phone chimed.

 

_Let me know if you make any progress on that case. GLH_

_It's Christmas, Greg. Can't you lot solve this one on your own? SH_

 

                Sherlock found his coat noting that it wasn't too badly damaged and rummaged in his closet until he found the longer coat John owned but didn't often wear. Sherlock was convinced John would accept it now as his previous jacket had been destroyed the night before. It was also far too cold to go out without it. He retreated to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket before fishing Hamish's jacket out of the fort. Meanwhile upstairs John was playing twenty questions with his inquisitive son as he tried to force the curly haired boy into his clothes. It took almost the entire length of Sherlock's shower but he finally got the boy to consent to wearing a long sleeved blue button down shirt and a pair of crisp black trousers. Basically he looked like a tiny Sherlock. Sherlock had just finished finding all three sets of gloves and the accompanying scarves when he heard Hamish bound into the hallway upstairs.

                                "Come on 'Mish, your gloves and scarves are down stairs." John reminded him as he lifted the boy back in his arms and walked down stairs. Sherlock chuckled slightly as he heard Hamish rattle off questions demanding why John carried him everywhere and for what reason he always needed to wear gloves. Sherlock met them at the base of the stairs with a smile, offering John the boys' gloves. "He certainly will never be bored with all the curious questions he asked." John handed Hamish to Sherlock and smiled as he watched the detective hug him tightly and press gentle kisses over his cheeks.

                                "Daddy knows a lot!" Hamish grinned but he was especially overjoyed as Sherlock held him close. He relished these moments with Sherlock because they were few and far between.

                                "He certainly does. Now come on, get these gloves on so we can go out!" Sherlock grinned and he set the boy down helping him put them on. As Sherlock helped him fix his scarf Hamish rattled off more questions, his eyes roaming over the face of his parents. He stopped suddenly, his eyes fluttering over to John who had a sort of dreamy expression on his face.

                                "Why is Daddy blushing?" Hamish asked Sherlock who shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

                                "Maybe he's thinking about something that makes him happy?"

                                "Daddy is not blushing," John argued with a giggle but he could not hide the fact that he actually was from his observant boys. He'd been caught, his mind having wandered back to the night before. "Daddy is simply putting on his scarf." He lied, wrapping it around his neck and smirking. He walked over and leaned down to give Hamish a kiss on the cheek. "So my little one, we're going to go eat breakfast at your favorite restaurant." He said excitedly, watching as Hamish started to bounce with joy. "Then we're going to go get a tree."

                                "A tree?" Hamish asked in confusion as Sherlock scooped him up again.

                                "A Christmas tree." He smiled.

                                "YEA!" Hamish giggled and shouted.

                                "Shush! Nanny might still be sleeping." Sherlock chided.

                                 "Oh.... Oops." But Hamish was so happy he couldn't contain himself. He cuddled closer to Sherlock, fighting to keep himself from squealing.

                                "Come on Daddy, put your coat on so we can go." Sherlock grinned, teasing John. Hamish giggled and crossed his arms, pretending to pout.

                                "I'm trying to, Papa." John teased back as he quickly slipped it over his shoulders and followed his boys down the stairs trying to be as quiet as possible. "I think I'm going to need a coffee to wake up properly," John said once they were outside. It was freezing cold. Hamish giggled and asked if he could have coffee as well, to which John promptly replied no. To counter the sad look on the boys face John offered him hot cocoa, which apparently excited him so much he could do nothing but clap happily. John giggled as he flagged down a cab and once they were inside the warm car and the instructions for their destination cleared up he settled back into the seat. It would take them about fifteen minutes to arrive at their destination. _"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas,"_ John sang quietly so only Hamish could hear. Hamish giggled and once again asked questions rapidly. Sherlock grunted the little boys' energy levels sky high for so early in the morning.

                                "Hamish, did you know that you Daddy loves Christmas more than any other holiday?" Sherlock asked softly to distract him.

                                "No. He does?" Hamish asked Sherlock in awe, scooting into his lap. Sherlock put his arms around him and let him snuggle in close.

                                "Yes. He always has. Ever since we first met." Sherlock grinned as John blushed. "Papa didn't even celebrate Christmas until your Daddy came into his life."

                                "Wow..." Hamish giggled again.

                                "You talk about me like I'm not here," John pointed out but he had a bright smile on his face, enjoying Sherlock telling Hamish about the changes John had brought into his life. "I do though. It's very magical. With Father Christmas coming and eating all sorts of sweets." He said excitedly, giggling with Hamish. "Oh and all the snowball fights, snow angels, and snow men." John blushed, he sounded like a child but then again Christmas _was_ for children. John felt like every holiday was for children and one of his greatest joys in having Hamish was that he could finally show off his love of Christmas. "We'll have to find you a Father Christmas cap while we're out today 'Mish, so you can wear it." John smiled as he took Hamish's small gloved hand in his own and held it gently. Hamish sighed happily, leaning back against Sherlock. "Then we'll all take a picture together and put it on Daddy's blog so all the nice people can see how handsome you are." Sherlock tensed and gave off a very Mycroft-like look, sighing softly.

 

                                "Uncle Mycroft won't like Daddy mentioning too much about our little prince on his blog!" Sherlock said in a teasing voice. "But we do need to get you a Father Christmas hat. Do you know what my favorite thing about Christmas is?"

                                "No, what?" Hamish asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

                                "The smell of Christmas trees and baking. Nanny Hudson does lots of Christmas baking!"

                                "Yea! Cookies!"

                                "I think she mentioned baking some cookies the other day," John said with a smile at Hamish. "But on Christmas Eve, you know what we're going to do? You, me and Papa are going to try to make cookies for Father Christmas all by ourselves. Just us, no help from Nanny Hudson."

                                "Oh no..." Sherlock said looking grave. Their last cooking experiment had been a bit... well rather not good.

                                "Oh! That'll be fun!" Hamish giggled and clapped.

                                "Are you sure he hasn't had coffee?" Sherlock teased, grumping a bit as his phone chimed. He pulled it out to check the message but John snatched his phone away.

 

_I need you to finish that case Sherlock. We don't have anyone at the Yard like you. GLH_

_Piss off, Gregory. Sherlock is spending today with his family. Love, John Watson Holmes._

 

                                Hamish hummed happily playing with the ends of Sherlock's scarf as he watched his fathers interact. John handed the phone back over to Sherlock with a proud smirk on his face before it softened as he watched Hamish.

                                "Mish, do you think you would ever want a little brother or a little sister?" He asked curiously. Sherlock chuckled softly, he had to hand it to him - John was certainly persistent. Hamish's eyes went even wider with excitement.

                                "Is that why I can't have a puppy, because I'm getting a little brother or sister?!" He asked eagerly, his voice getting louder in his excitement.

                                "No Hamish," Sherlock said softly, running his fingers through his hair. "Your Dads have been talking about potentially adopting a brother or sister for you is all. If you're a good boy Father Christmas may still bring you a puppy."

 

                                "Oh," Hamish said softly, looking a little disappointed. "I would like a brother or sister. Someone to play with." John gave Sherlock a frown that said, " _See? Now we have to **have** another one."_

He kissed Hamish's cheek a few times.

                                "I promise until we have you a little sister or brother you can play with Papa and me." He whispered. "We can be just as much fun as a little brother or sister." Sherlock saw the disappointment and it made his heart twinge.

                                "Did you know your Uncles might adopt someone too? Then you'd have a cousin to play with. You should talk to Uncle Greg about it!" Sherlock chuckled.

                                "Really!? I will!" Hamish exclaimed clapping again. "Can we pick out a big tree? Can we get Nanny a prezzie too?"  Sherlock simply smiled a John, his head resting gently on Hamish's as he asked questions.

                                "Well it can't be too big, we have to get it through the door, love." John said with a chuckle but at his son's frown he gave a sigh. "But I promise we will get one as big as possible." John promised giving both of his boys a kiss on the cheek. "And of course we're getting Nanny a prezzie- present." John corrected himself with a laugh; he would start talking like Hamish if he wasn't careful. And that would annoy Sherlock to no end. "What do you think she would like?"

                                "Hm...." Hamish said thoughtfully, back to playing with Sherlock's scarf. "We should get her something pretty!"

                                "You mean like a piece of jewelry?" Sherlock asked quietly.

                                "Yea! We can get her a neckylace." Sherlock snorted with laughter and Hamish pouted.

                                "A necklace." He corrected.

                                "Neck-lace." Hamish sounded the word out slowly. The cab stopped and Sherlock hugged Hamish tightly to him as he opened the door and scooted out. He paid the cabbie and smiled as Hamish got excited again. "Pancakes!" He shouted.

                                "Pancakes!" John echoed making Hamish grin. "Oh, Hamish do you want me to show you how you can get snow on your pancakes?" John asked as he opened the door to the Breakfast Club, a very bright and vibrant breakfast restaurant.

                They were lucky it wasn't crowded this morning. They got table and before they even sat down John managed to catch their waitress and order their usual breakfast, only this time he asked for some powdered sugar as well. Once they were all seated the waitress brought over John's coffee, Hamish's hot chocolate, and Sherlock's tea. John was lucky he saw Hamish about to put the cup to his lips, because Hamish had no patience. He snatched the cup from him because he knew it was steaming hot and would burn his son's mouth if he tried to drink it straight away.

                                "Let it cool first." He reminded his son who pouted and insisted it couldn't be that hot. "That's what you said last time and you burnt your tongue." Hamish gave no indication he was about to stop pouting so Sherlock distracted him.

                                "Hamish, did you know that if you burn your tongue you can't taste things properly?" Sherlock asked, leaning down to meet their son's eyes.

                                "No. Is that true?!" Hamish asked softly, in awe. He loved it when Sherlock told him scientific things. "Is... Is it because of your... Your taste buds?" He asked eagerly, trying to prove to Sherlock he'd learned something even being so young.

                                "Yes, because you damage them. That's why people blow on their soup or their coffee before they drink it. So they don't hurt their tongue."

                                "Wow..." He said in awe and he kicked his feet happily in his booster chair. "This is nice. I like this." He announced grandly.

                                "I'm glad." John said and ironically enough sipped his coffee without thinking and burned his tongue. It didn't help that he muttered, _'Shit_ ,' loud enough for Hamish to hear. Hamish dissolved into giggles and Sherlock smirked.

                                "Burned my tongue, sorry. Hamish don't giggle. Daddy said a bad word it's not funny." He insisted but he couldn't stop the smile that came to his lips as he watched the little boy giggle and cover his mouth almost as if in shock. "That is the first time in at least six months I have sworn in front of him," he promised Sherlock who looked quite skeptical.

                                "Not true!" Hamish announced, still giggling. "You swear when you think I can't hear you." Sherlock chuckled, looking over the newspaper. John's face turned a bit red at Hamish's revelation.

                                "My, he is observant." Sherlock teased. "But that is exactly why Hamish Watson-Holmes, we wait for our drinks to cool before we drink them. Daddy should know better, he's a doctor."

                                "Papa, how come your phone keeps making noise and you aren't checking it?" Hamish was now playing with his silverware. Sherlock took it from him, setting the newspaper down.

                                "Because your Uncle Greg is trying to make your Papa go to work and he doesn't want to. He wants to help you eat pancakes and pick out a Christmas tree." He nuzzled his nose into Hamish's hair, humming with pleasure.

                                "He's still texting you?" John asked, obviously annoyed. Because he was across the table from Sherlock he couldn't hear the noise like angry bees coming from Sherlock's pocket as Greg was texting him repeatedly. "I told him to Pi-Please leave you alone." He said, relieved he had stopped himself from swearing again. "He should leave you be, Sherlock. I would say threaten to tell Mycroft but I think he'd just encourage you to do it as well. Gits, the lot of them."   

                                "He wants the best." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm ignoring him, you both should too." Sherlock pulled his phone out, cleared all the message alerts, and turned the phone to silent. Hamish was humming softly as he colored on the piece of paper that Sherlock had given him. Sherlock always kept a few blank pages and a small box of crayons in his jacket for Hamish when they went out. The boy seemed completely in his own little world as he colored and Sherlock simply smiled as he watched him. "It's alright John, I'm not going to work on it today. If I work on it at all I can go out for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. Right now it's not important." John gave a sigh, choosing to do exactly as his husband said and ignore it. It didn't matter. This breakfast, their family together was what was important.

                                "What are you coloring, Mish?" He asked his son, running a hand through the back of his hair as he colored away. Hamish didn't answer, instead focused on his work. It was easy for the boy to slip into his own little bubble, much the way John imagined Sherlock had as a child. John knew for a fact Sherlock was already training Hamish to build a mind palace of his own. He tried to pick up a crayon and color with him but the waitress arrived with their food. John took the paper and crayons away so the waitress could set their food down on the table. "Thank you," he told her with a smile, not even noticing the flirtatiousness of her body language or the chipperness in her voice when she replied.

                                "No problem, love. Let me know if you need anything else." He just nodded and handed the paper and crayon box to Sherlock who took it, looking a bit puzzled and rather angry. John didn't understand why. He hadn't even registered that the waitress was trying to flirt with him as she pushed things around on the table. He honestly didn't pay attention to anyone who flirted with him anymore, not now that he had Sherlock. "Hamish don't start yet, I'm going to make it snow on your pancakes remember?" He promised as he poured some syrup on them and then grabbed the tiny cup of powdered sugar. "Close your eyes, I'm going to do some winter magic." He said softly, watching as Hamish grinned.

                Hamish closed his eyes but was peeking;  so Sherlock chuckled softly and put one hand over the boys eyes. Partially so John could do what he was going to and partially because the look he gave John was purely indecent. John met Sherlock's eyes and could easily read the message.

 

_You're mine..._

 

                The heat pooled in Sherlock's eyes as he held John's for a long moment before Hamish started to squirm. A small smirk playing on Sherlock's lips. John felt his breath slowly starting to return to normal as Sherlock spoke.

                                "Do your magic, Daddy." He commanded, licking his bottom lip as his eyes burned into John.

                                "Hurry! I want to see snow!" Hamish giggled, fighting against Sherlock's hand.

                John gazed into Sherlock's eyes, his face turning a terrible shade of red. Sherlock only got that look on his face when he was jealous and at first the doctor couldn't figure out what had inspired it. He looked up and around, finally breaking their eye contact and saw the waitress eyeing him from behind the counter. She winked at him before going back to her work and he swallowed hard before looking back to Sherlock with a nod. He was at a loss for words and his mind was clouded with the incident thoughts Sherlock's look inspired. He coughed, trying to remind himself that he needed to behave. Reminding himself that they were in a public place with their young son. He looked down at Hamish and smiled.

                                "First," He forced out, "You must say the magic words. Which are... Jack Frost." He decided with a laugh, picking the first thing that came to mind. He sprinkled powdered sugar on Hamish's pancakes.  "Go on, say it or Jack Frost won't help Daddy make snow."

                                "Jack Frost!" Hamish said in an excited whisper, giggling. Sherlock removed his hand dramatically. Sherlock leaned back slightly and easily slipped off his shoe, slipping his socked foot under John's trouser leg and playing with the edge of John's sock. Sliding it up and down against his leg. His face was normal, relaxed, and blank except for his eyes which betrayed his amusement as he tormented his husband. "Wow!" Hamish giggled and clapped. "Daddy that's cool!"

                                "Hamish, speak softly. We don't want to disturb others." Sherlock said softly, helping the boy pick up his fork. His toes crept up towards John's knee; seemingly unaware he was doing anything at all Sherlock ate a bit of his breakfast.

                                "Don't thank me, thank Jack Frost who supposedly never gets enough credit judging by that Rise of The Guardians movie you love so much." John ran his hand through Hamish's hair, trying his best to ignore what Sherlock was doing to him underneath the table. John knew damn well what he was trying to do but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of responding to it in public. He was determined not to react so he focused on Hamish.  "Chew your food; don't just swallow it whole because it tastes so good." He told him before he started to eat his own eggs and toast, still trying to ignore those nibble toes getting higher and higher on his leg.  

                Hamish got a swipe of syrup on his chin and Sherlock dipped his napkin in his water and leaned forward to wipe it off, his toes now finding the crease behind John's knee. He licked his bottom lip again, nuzzling Hamish again as Hamish giggled. Hamish looked up at him watching as Sherlock settled back into his chair, his face still sufficiently devoid of any response to the small tremors going through his lovers body.

                                "It snowed on my pancakes!" Hamish said again, humming happily.

                                "Are they good pancakes, love?" Sherlock asked softly, his eyes still the only thing betraying his enjoyment of John's resistance.

                                "Yummy, but not as good as Nanny's." He said softly, humming the way Sherlock did when he thought. He looked like he was thinking of something important but it faded as he went back to humming a song and eating his pancakes.

                                "Well that's true. They're very good though." Sherlock scooped a bit of syrup with his index finger and gently dipped the finger in his mouth, sucking the syrup off with a hum and a wet popping sound. His eyes flicking up to John's as he did it, a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth.

 

 _'I am going to kill him,'_ John thought as he forced himself to look away from Sherlock and to his son. _'Focus on Hamish, Watson. Focus on your adorable son, not your bastard husband who is trying arouse you in a public place.'_ He pushed his own food aside, unable to eat because he feared Sherlock would touch him somewhere far more inappropriate while he had a mouth full of food.

 

                                "Let me help you cut them, darling." John said as he took the knife from Hamish and cut his pancakes in small pieces. "There you go now they're small enough to eat and you still have all that snow on your pancakes." He kissed his cheek and pulled away, keeping his eyes on Hamish because if he looked at Sherlock... He wouldn't be able to stay in control of his reactions. Sherlock seemed to notice some small shift in John, as John shifted in his seat. He grinned as he slowly extracted his foot, his mission achieved. His smile growing as he slipped his shoe back on and sipped his tea, glancing over to watch John with a victorious smirk and a simple raise of an eyebrow.

                                "Thank you Daddy." Hamish said quietly, eating slowly. Sherlock ate a bit more, because he knew he would get scolded if he didn't and then focused on watching John and Hamish interact. John looked up at him and easily read the new look in his eyes.

 

_We're just beginning..._

               

                Sherlock would be purring if he was a cat, knowing that today was going to be a very long tormenting day for his husband, but only in the very best ways. John let out a very noticeable breath once Sherlock's foot was gone. He was relieved it was over, giving him a chance to allow his body to recover and the blood to return to his brain. Under normal circumstances Sherlock's teasing would not have bothered him, but he always worried about doing things like this around Hamish. He did not want to accidentally scar their child for life. He pulled his food back over eating a bit more, now that he believed it safe to do so. He finished his coffee and helped Hamish finish his pancakes.  Stealing a bite before he remembered Hamish's cocoa.

                                "They're really good." He told their son with a soft smile. "Do you still want your hot cocoa? I think it’s cool enough for you to drink now." He promised as he handed the small cup with a tiny Santa drawn on it over to him.   

                                "Yummy!" Hamish giggled and sipped the cocoa. He watched his fathers with wide eyes over the rim of the cup, holding it firmly in his hands.  Sherlock had eaten maybe a third of his food and finished his tea. He sighed softly and rolled his neck.

                                "Are you alright John?" He asked softly, his voice low.

                                "I'm fine," John answered with a simple shrug, he even dared to give his husband a bit of smirk. He wasn't going to let Sherlock tease him. Not right now at least. "I am perfectly fine despite what you're doing," he whispered before turning his gaze back to Hamish. "Slow down," He chuckled as he took the cup away. "You'll get sick if you drink it that fast."

                                "Why is it always no?" Hamish pouted, crossing his arms. Sherlock chuckled again. John had half a mind to take a picture of Hamish crossing his arms like that, he looked adorable. He could see that he was angry but it was honestly more precious than anything else.

                                "Because your Daddy is taking care of us, just like he always does 'Mish. Are you done eating?"

                                "Mmhmm. Can we go get a tree?" He giggled, bouncing in his seat.

                                "My, you are energetic today! Perhaps we need to take you to the park and let you run around first." Sherlock suggested quickly, looking to John.

                                "I think we should since he just drank and ate loads of sugar. If he doesn't run around a bit he'll start bouncing and running around at the tree farm." He lifted Hamish out of his booster seat and sat him on his lap. "Ready to go, Papa?" John asked.

                Sherlock stood quickly and collected the check for the breakfast. He walked over and paid at the counter while Hamish hummed happily and played with John's hair, as they stood near the door. Sherlock strode back towards them and without hesitation he closed the gap between himself and John, claiming John's mouth in a deep but short kiss before walking over and holding the door open for him.

                                "Ew, stop..." Hamish whined. The waitress was watching wide eyed from behind the counter, her face very red.

                                "Oh I'm ready, Daddy. Let's go to the park." His smirk was a mile wide and his voice betrayed his arousal. John's cheeks were slightly red as he walked out the door, avoiding his husband's gaze.

                                "Yes, do stop, Sherlock. You're making our son cringe." John said with a smile as he held Hamish close. "We'll walk to the park; it will give us a chance to get used to the cold." He explained to Hamish and he started to wonder why Sherlock was walking behind him. "Are you coming Sh- Ah!" John couldn't help but yelp once he felt Sherlock pinch his bum. "What has gotten into you?" He said, his face bright red as he giggled, praying Hamish hadn't seen that. Hamish wriggled and squirmed until John put him down, taking one of each of their hands. Sherlock easily held his son's hand and looked at John quizzically.

                                "Nothing has gotten into me, what's gotten into you?" Sherlock asked, inflecting his voice _just so_ in order to remind John of the night before. Hamish was happily giggling, not paying any attention to his fathers.

                                "Park, park, park!" He sang, making up a song as they walked. John was glad it was snowing because he could blame his flushed face on the cold instead of admitting that his eager husband was pushing the edges of his control.

                                 "Recently? A certain consulting detective who has a cocky smile." John mumbled and he rolled his eyes when Sherlock gave a dark chuckle. "Are you going to do this all day?" When Sherlock feigned innocence he added: "Tease me?" His voice was a whisper and when Sherlock nodded he gave a sigh. It was going to be an awfully long yet glorious day.  "You're just begging me to put the uniform on," He scolded in a firm tone.

                                "Oh God, yes." Sherlock whispered in his ear, leaning over so John could clearly hear and feel the desire in his tone.

                                "I love you!" Hamish said suddenly to both of them, giggling. His voice cutting through their moment because he was desperate for their attention.

                                "We love you too, 'Mish." Sherlock was more than content as they made their way to the small park. The two men watching as Hamish ran off immediately and climbed all over the playground. He put an arm around John's waist, pulling him close for a moment. "You wanted to be reminded, so I'm reminding you." He whispered in John's ear, his voice soft. "I am always thinking about the ways to make you beg for mercy, John Watson-Holmes." His attention focused seemingly on Hamish as the boy scampered about. John swallowed thickly and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into his husband.

                                "I think I asked you to remind me _last night_ , not right now when there is nothing I can do about it." John pointed out with a smile. He looked around for Hamish, who was currently playing with a group of younger children the whole of whom couldn't be more than two years old. He was trying to teach them how to go down the slide properly. John smiled fondly. "He's so sweet."

                                "He's just like you." Sherlock smiled. "You asked me to remind you, you didn't say when." He teased, his hand slipping up and into John's hair. "So kind and caring. So very wonderful." Hamish was giggling as he played with the children and climbed all over the playground. He saw his Dads watching him and he was pleased to see they were so close together and touching. He liked it when they were touching, it meant things were okay. It felt like the best day of his life. He waved at them grandly and giggled when they waved back.

                                "Well, I'll be sure to say when next time." John warned him with a teasing smile but he leaned further into his touch. He couldn't stop himself. It was an instant reaction. It was not often that Sherlock Holmes touched his husband so affectionately in public. He gently nodded to the bench behind him and the two easily sank down on it together. "He's a lot more like you than me. He's already so smart. It's amazing. It's almost like he really is your child. He picks up on things so quickly. He can read people's faces. He studies everything." John smiled brightly at Hamish when he started to climb across the tiny monkey bars all by himself. "We're you like that as a child?" He asked curiously. Sherlock blushed, not overly so but enough to tinge those damn cheekbones.

                                "Yes, studying others was the first thing I learned. It is something I have done as long as I can remember. It was one of the few ways I could actually get information. We didn't talk about a lot in our family. Just look at the relationship I have with my brother." They watched Hamish crawl over the playground, play tag with a few other children, and just run all over for awhile while they relished the easy moment. Eventually Hamish came running over to them, giggling like mad and asked Sherlock to pick him up. Which he did, nuzzling their noses together.

                                "Can we get our tree now? They already have theirs." He pointed to the other children.

                                “Sure! Let's go." John stood and waited for Sherlock to stand as well; when he did John met him with a quick but meaningful kiss. "Sorry, Mish. I had to." He explained after he pulled away. "The Christmas tree farm is about a half hour away by taxi." John waved down a cab and opened the door for his boys.

                                "Hamish, can you think of anything you want for Christmas right off the top of your head?" John asked curiously as they all climbed into the cab and John gave the cabbie the address.

                                "A puppy!" Hamish giggled, clamoring into the cab and into John's lap.

                                "We have to ask Nanny about the puppy but maybe if you are extra good you will get one,” Sherlock promised him.

                                "I'll be the best boy ever!" He promised grandly.

                                "You always are." John whispered and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  "But I meant besides the puppy. Like toys or books. I have a feeling that Father Christmas is feeling very gracious this year so you may get everything you want." He said with a bright smile. "But I think he'll only bring you everything as long as you promise to stay in bed until Christmas morning this year. Last year you kept trying to get up to see him and I think he took some of your gifts back with him because you almost caught him." John wasn't exactly lying. The previous year Hamish had almost caught him putting out presents and he grabbed the presents and ducked back into the bedroom falling over Sherlock who had finally gotten up to help him.

                                "Papa, may I please have the chemistry set?" Hamish pleaded. "And some more science stuff?" Then he blushed.

                                "What is it?" Sherlock said to encourage him, watching him with interest.

                                "I want to learn to play the violin like you..." He whispered. Sherlock blushed and chuckled.

                                "Well, it might be a bit big for you now, but let Papa look into it."

                                "If he wants to learn starting him off young is a huge benefit." John said with an eager smile. It would be absolutely adorable to see Hamish with a little violin trying to learn how to play like Sherlock. "If he starts now, I bet he will be able to play almost as well as you by the age of ten." He added, hoping the challenge of it all would make Sherlock more keen to the idea.

 

                                "I started when I was five." Sherlock said firmly, bristling slightly. "My only resistance is finding the right sized violin for him. If I can, I will inform Santa  to bring one for him. What about some biology experiment equipment?" Sherlock asked Hamish who nodded eagerly.

                                "And a doctor outfit!" He giggled.

                                "Wow, you're covering all the bases. You'll be the best Consulting Detective/Doctor/Violinist in the world." John chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Daddy will tell Santa. How about your own medical kit? It will have a stethoscope and everything." At Hamish puzzled looked he smiled and placed his hand over his heart. "It's that thing can hear that strong heartbeat of yours."

                                "Oh, like you use when I get sick!" Hamish nodded. "I want to be just like my Daddies." He announced proudly. Sherlock was still a bit red, it always caught him off guard when either of his loves did something so sentimental. He rubbed Hamish's arm as the boy snuggled in closer to John.

                                "You'll be brilliant my little detective." He hummed with appreciation.

                                "Or doctor," John added as he wrapped his arms around Hamish nuzzled him playfully. "Or scientist, or musician, anything. You'll be spectacular with whatever you want to do." He kissed his cheek and smiled proudly up at Sherlock. They had the best son in the world. "We love you, Mish." He whispered to him as he giggled.

                                "I love you too Daddy." Hamish smiled. "I am going to be a detective doctor!" He announced proudly.  Sherlock smiled, looking out the window and letting his mind wander. The hadn't yet discussed what to do about his schooling. John likely wouldn't want him to go to boarding school and be so far away, but it was likely the only place he would get a good education... So many things to consider.  And John wanted at least one more... His sentimental doctor...

                John played with Hamish for the entire car ride, which manly consisted of Hamish asking ten thousand questions and John struggling to find the appropriate answer. After awhile John grew tired of answering his many questions so he convinced him to switch games. They started to play I spy. Sherlock was just at the edge of his tolerance for their games when the cab finally pulled to a stop. John helped Sherlock get Hamish out of the cab and Sherlock paid the fare.

                                "Wait for us, Hamish." John giggled once he saw their son running toward the trees at full speed. “Oh Lord," He said with a smile as he chased after him. He, thankfully, caught him and scooped him up in his arms before he could cause too much trouble. "Don't run off without Daddy or Papa, okay?" He asked, his tone gentle but firm enough to let Hamish know he was serious. Hamish pouted but he didn't pout long. He didn't like Sherlock to see him pouting. Sherlock was right behind them, a smile on his face.

                                "'Mish you have to stay with us. If you run off someone might try to take you away." He said grandly, mimicking the actions of snatching him from John's arms.

                                "No. I won't let them!" He said loudly.

                                "We won't either that's why you have to stay close." He nuzzled Hamish's nose. "Maybe Daddy will let you sit on his shoulders again."

                                "Oh! Please Daddy?!"

                                "You can always sit on my shoulders, Mish." John said happily helping his little monkey climb up on top of his shoulders where he held him carefully. He looked over at Sherlock with a smile. "Do you remember how tall our last one was? I ask because last year it was bit small and I think we can go another foot or two." John said, simply thinking out loud as they began to walk around the many rows of Christmas trees. "Hamish, do you want to put the star on top like last year?" John asked with a bright smile, looking up at his son.

                                "Be careful of your arm." Sherlock reminded John. "Last year's was a bit too short. I will be able to tell better by standing near it. You could barely reach the top last year." Sherlock chuckled because he remembered John being stubborn and saying he would put the star on the tree.

                                "Yea! I want to do it!" Hamish giggled, looking this way and that. He was eager and fidgeting a lot.

                                "I am, it's fine." John assured Sherlock. The pain in his arm really wasn't that bad. There was a dull ache though and he chose to ignore it as they browsed the farm. As John wasn't looking, he didn't notice the group of girls in their twenties gushing over the sight of him and Hamish. Sherlock having drifted off slightly from the two of them as they surveyed the trees. "Look, Mish. Isn't this one pretty?" He asked, touching one of the trees. Enjoying the rush of fragrance as he touched the branches. One of the girls, most likely the eldest, walked over and flashed him a bright smile. John finally noticed her and smiled politely. He blushed slightly as the young blonde said he had a beautiful son. He smiled and said thank you. But then looked up at Hamish. "Say thank you, Hamish," He told his son who blushed a shade of red and hid his face in John's hair. "He can be a bit shy," John explained before they walked away from the girls. The girls reconvening and seemingly giggling themselves silly over something. He looked over at Sherlock who was standing with two fingers on the branch of a tree and  was giving him that same look he'd worn earlier in the restaurant. "Oh Good Lord," John whispered, his face turning a bit red. Sherlock turned and closed the ground between them, a look of determination on his face.

                                "Oh you are treading dangerous ground, Captain." Sherlock whispered in his ear, nipping it before walking a short distance away.

                                "It's too short." Hamish pouted about the tree John was looking at. Sherlock meanwhile shamelessly began chatting with one of the girls who worked there, clearly being his most charming until she was red in the face and wandered off muttering. He walked back.

                                "They have the perfect height tree just in the back. She is going to get it and show it to us." Hamish giggled. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, giving off his best surprised face,

                                "What on earth did you say to her make her want to do that?" John asked curiously but it was obvious that he was jealous. "Oh you're not going to answer me? You're just going to smirk and walk away?" He asked with a laugh as Sherlock just turned away. "You cheeky...  Monkey." John said, wishing he could say bastard but he wouldn't dare in front of Hamish. He followed after Sherlock and then there stood the tree in front of him. The girl smiled and showed Sherlock something specific on the bark and he nodded. "Oh it's beautiful!" John said and it looked like Hamish agreed since he was hitting the top of his head like it was drum and screaming.

                                "THAT ONE! I WANT THAT ONE!" Hamish exclaimed.  John laughed but that wasn’t really helping the dull throb he was already feeling in his head.

                                "Hamish, do not shout!" Sherlock said softly but sternly, grabbing his hands to still them. Hamish looked down.

                                "I'm sorry..." He blushed.

                                "Apologize to Daddy for hitting him in the head." He grinned and the woman took the money from him.  "And you can have it delivered today?"

                                "Yes sir. We will have there in about three hours." The woman said, still blushing. Sherlock winked and nodded.  "Perfect! Thank you so much, Erica. Do tell your father I am glad to hear he is well." Sherlock pulled Hamish down gently and cuddled him. "We should go home and get the decorations ready. Isn't it beautiful?"

                                "It's perfect!" Hamish giggled.

                                "Come on Daddy, don't just stand there staring all day." Sherlock teased lowly in his ear. "The sooner Hamish goes down for a nap the sooner I can tell you just what I said." 

                                "I'm not exactly sure if I want to know," John said with a blush but he finally remembered how to move and he followed right behind Sherlock. "You know her. At least her father anyway. I bet you didn't say anything to her." He accused, rolling his eyes. "You just started to talk about how you knew her father...  If you even know her father. Knowing you, you simply just pretended to." John was spitting off his own deduction as he waved down a cab for them. "Am I wrong?" He asked curiously once they were inside and Sherlock had told the cabbie to take them back to the flat. Sherlock laughed, quite proud of himself. John was jealous _and_ flustered.

                                " _We_ ," He said, emphasizing the word. "Did a case for them shortly after you moved in with me. It was a small one. Stolen family heirloom. Took all of an hour to figure out the maid had taken it. They couldn't pay us and I told them it was fine. I remember the surprised look on your face because you hadn't expected me to do it at all. That Christmas they sent us that little four foot tree you loved." He sat back, Hamish playing with Sherlock's scarf tails. "I simply remembered."

                                "O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree..." Hamish hummed softly, but his voice was dragging. He was getting tired.

                                "She was ever so pleased that the great Sherlock Holmes remembered such a small personal case." He winked at John. "I also told her that her new hair style looked good on her and that she looked younger than I remembered." John rolled his eyes and took their son into his arms. He was steaming with jealousy and the only thing that would calm him that wouldn't result in him going to prison would be holding Hamish. That and he hoped it would also help him hopefully forget the aching of his head.

                                "Of course. Any young girl is just so flustered at just a simple glance from _you_ and what do you? Encourage them by saying rubbish like that." John kissed the top of Hamish head and he giggled softly. "How about you close your eyes for little bit? Just until we get home. You look sleepy." He told his son with a voice of concern. "And don't say you’re not tired, mister. I know your sleepy face." He rubbed his nose with Hamish's.

                                "It's not them I'm encouraging." Sherlock said smugly, his eyes again filling with heat.

                                "Not sleepy!" Hamish pouted. He started playing with John's scarf but he slowly sank to sleep no matter how hard he fought it.  Sherlock watched them, smiling as he did.

                                "You are too encouraging them." John said with a pout of his own. He finally gazed up into Sherlock's eyes, choosing to ignore what _that damn look_ did to him. "When you compliment people like that they think your flirting with them. Which then makes them think they can flirt back. Which they shouldn't be allowed to do because you're-" He was about to say 'mine,' but he stopped himself from giving Sherlock the satisfaction of such a possessive comment. "You're married." He forced out, his voice sounding flustered and breathless.

                                "I complimented her. Which is something people do to each other. I did it simply because you would notice. She saw my wedding ring. She knows I am, _completely_ yours." He almost purred the word. "Everyone knows. Yet it seems like no one sees that you're _mine_." He scooted closer to John, his eyes flashing slightly. "Which isn't fair." John’s head gave another painful throb and he shook his head.

                                "Don't- Don't do that when I'm holding Hamish." John said with a giggle as he scooted away from Sherlock. His husband knew damn well what whispering in his ear did to him. "No. Just no, Sherlock. Just because people flirt with me doesn't mean you get to tease me like this." He said firmly. "And for the record, I never flirt back." He said with a smug smile.

                                "I wasn't flirting. I was being polite. After all you get upset if I am mean. Besides we got the perfect tree for our perfect Christmas." He said it softly but he was basically pouting. He scooted back and looked out the window tending slightly. "I don't flirt. I don't know how."

                                "Oh you liar, you do it all the time. You know how to charm people, Sherlock. That's basically flirting." John was laughing but when he looked up to see the pout on his husband's face he sighed. "Don't. Please, don’t pout just because I am trying to keep you from teasing me. I have to defend myself somehow, Sherlock." He explained and with a heavy sigh he scooted a bit closer. "I just don't want you whispering dirty things in my ear while I'm holding our son."

                                "I was being perfectly polite." Sherlock said and leaned back against John. "Once the tree arrives I will go do the shopping." In the silence that fell John’s head began to pound even more but he shut his eyes tight.

                                “You're angry with me now." John said with a sigh, feeling awful for not just letting Sherlock have his way with him. "I'm sorry." He whispered a frown on his lips as he rested his head on his husband's shoulder. "You don't have to do that, dear. I can go. It's the least I can since you're upset with me." He nuzzled his nose into his neck, giving a heavy sigh. "You've been teasing me all day and I was just determined to not let it drive me mad."

                                "I'm not upset with you." Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked at John. "You have been very sensitive lately..." He put his hand on John's cheek, under the pretense of looking in his eyes. "I'm not happy I didn't get my way, sure. But I'm not upset with you. Scaring Hamish for life is not an acceptable hobby. I wasn't trying to flirt with that girl. I knew they keep the best trees off the main area, and I wanted you to have your perfect Christmas."

                                "I'm sorry..." John said after a long pause because his head was killing him. He looked away from Sherlock, his face flushing red out of embarrassment. What had gotten into him? Why had he just jumped to conclusions like that?  "It was wrong of me to assume you were flirting with her just to tease me... I guess... I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep or I'm just ill."

                                "Don't." Sherlock scolded softly, his hand turning John's chin to look at him. "It's perfectly natural for you to be jealous. I was. Maybe because of that it seemed like I was trying to flirt. Maybe I was. I do stupid things when someone else fancies my husband." He spoke quietly so as not to disturb Hamish. "But there is nothing wrong with how you feel. Are you ill? Have you been pretending to be healthy again?" His fingers deftly moved to check his pulse at his neck, his eyes narrowing. "Is something still wrong?"

                                "No, Nothing's wrong. Honestly. I'm happy." John assured him, giving him a soft kiss. He pulled away a bit of a frown on his face knowing he need to confess. To tell Sherlock that something really was wrong. "I have a bit of a headache. And no, I wasn't pretending to be healthy. I just thought I would be okay after a while but it’s getting worse. I think yesterday's brawl is finally starting to catch up with me." John closed his eyes for a moment, "I'll be okay though." Sherlock's fingers fluttered here and there checking over every inch of John that he could reach. He checked his skull for swelling, his eyes, his pulse again, his temperature, everywhere he could. Concern clearly written on his face.

                                "You could have had a concussion or head trauma. I should have made you go to A&E..." He said quietly.

                                "A&E? Christ, no. I'm fine. I'll be fine." John promised as scooted closer to his husband. "It's just a headache." He pulled Hamish closer to his chest and he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Honestly, dear. Stop fussing over me. I'll be okay after I get some rest." At least that's what John hoped. It would be awful if it was something more serious.  Sherlock forced himself to stop and he immediately moved into the position he occupied when he spun his ring. He wanted to, he needed the comfort...  But he didn't want to worry or stress John out more. Fear was gnawing away at his chest. He should have forced John to go to the doctor.

                                "If your headache does not get better soon I am going to call Mycroft's doctor to come to the house." He was very serious, that same dark fear from the night before returning full sweep.

                                "We... Home?" Hamish mumbled sleepily.

                                "Not just yet 'Mish. Soon." John heard how serious Sherlock was and he nodded. He wasn't going to argue with that tone. He nuzzled his face into Sherlock's shoulder. Wishing he had a blanket to black out the light.

                                "Are you tired?" Sherlock asked him softly, concern clear in his voice.

                                "If I have a concussion I shouldn't sleep." He said with a frown. He wanted to sleep. He felt like that would help. He hugged Hamish close, running his fingers through the boys' hair in an effort to ease him back into sleep.

                                "You already slept." Sherlock said a little dully. "Maybe I should call the doctor just in case. Then you and Hamish can nap while I do the shopping." He didn't feel the moment his control slipped but he suddenly was spinning his ring, his eyes narrowed as his mind raced through lists of symptoms, medical possibilities, Hamish's Christmas list, and how to be six places at once.

                                "Daddy.... Are... You okay?" Hamish asked softly, opening his tired eyes. "You look... White..." He sort of reached up towards John, his eyes a bit unfocused.

                                "Hm?" John asked, opening his eyes to look down at his own skin. His hand did look a tad pale. He wasn't able to stop the bit of fear that flashed through his eyes, though he tried to keep himself focused. What if this was something serious? He composed himself. "I'm okay, Darling. Just cold." He lied and he closed his eyes again, he felt Hamish snuggled back in against him trying to warm John with his little body. "You may need to. Just to be safe." He whispered to Sherlock. Sherlock however had already dialed the number. He put the phone to his ear, still spinning his ring.

                                "Dr. Evans please," He said softly. "Sherlock." There was a pause. "I need you to make a house call for my husband please. It may not be serious but he has worrying signs and he is the doctor not me." Another pause. "Thank you." Sherlock was pale and spun his ring faster. "He will be there soon." He sighed, bouncing his leg slightly.

                                "Home!" Hamish yelled happily as the cab stopped. Sherlock swept him out of John's arms and helped both of them out. He paid the cabbie and hovered around John as he got his boys inside. Sherlock's face betrayed his worry and Hamish nodded quickly before hurrying up into the flat.

                                "Hamish what are you doing?" John asked with a laugh as he watched their son crawl up the stairs and go running towards the kitchen.

                                "Papa take Daddy to bed!" Hamish ordered sternly. John was surprised

                                "What?" John asked with confusion and he heard Hamish mumble something about 'taking care of Daddy because he was sick' before Sherlock easily lifted him into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. "What on earth? We can't just leave him in there alone." But John quickly realized he didn't have anything to worry about. There was a slight noise of a chair being drug over and Sherlock easily pictured what he son was doing in the kitchen, a small smile on his face.

                                "Don't worry Daddy." Hamish said loudly. He pushed a chair by the fridge and got up on it opening it and carefully pulling out his juice container. He crawled over the counter to find his sippy cup and he put all his effort into carefully pouring juice without making a mess. He closed the cup and put the juice away, climbing down. "Coming!" Hamish yelled. He brought the cup to John, offering it with a sad face. Both of them gave small, sad smiles as they looked at their son. Sherlock scooped him, giving him a kiss on his forehead before putting him in the bed with his dad.

                                "You two rest." Sherlock ordered. John took a sip out of the cup mollifying Hamish that he was grateful for the work his son had done, but the flavor made him want to retch.

                                "Thank you, 'Mish." He whispered before he wrapped his arms around his son and pulled him close as possible. Maybe it was just migraine, the signs seemed pretty clear that it might be. That wasn't too serious, a migraine. He could take pills for that. Pills and rest. That would not ruin Christmas. "Can you turn the lights off, Sherlock?" John asked in a soft voice, finding that if he spoke quietly his head didn't throb as much. "Light is hurting my eyes." Sherlock quickly swept through the room and closed all the curtains. He dimmed the lights by wrapping a towel around the lamp. He then hovered by the bed on pins and needles waiting for the doctors' knock. Hamish simply cuddled up to John and went to sleep, enjoying the feeling of napping with his Dad. As soon as Sherlock was sure that Hamish had completely dropped off he started spinning his ring again, hovering between the door and the bed. John could almost feel the panic coming off of him, but he was so tired.

                                "What do I do John?" Sherlock asked quietly, his voice wavering.

                                "Hm?" John hummed. He had almost fallen asleep but at the sound of his husband's voice he woke again. He looked at him with worried eyes. Christ he was spinning his ring again. It made his heart flutter slightly, knowing that his health was the only thing that so easily destabilized his normally unaffected husband. "Nothing, love. I'm okay. Really don't worry, please."

                                "Okay..." Sherlock said softly and he stopped talking. He refused to speak or even to fully breathe so he could let John go back to sleep. However inside he was panicked, what if John was seriously injured? He clenched his hands into fists and then swept out into the living room; he found John's medical kit and brought it into the bedroom. He flitted back and forth until a soft knock echoed.

                                "Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called softly. "There's a doctor here for you."

                                "Thank you Mrs. Hudson. Dr. Evans," Sherlock strode forward and shook the man’s hand. "He's in the bedroom. We got into a bad scuffle yesterday. He had to have some stitches in his arm. He refused A&E and had me stitch the wound. He seemed fine last night... But now he says he has a migraine, is cool to the touch, and pale. He's also photo sensitive." Sherlock said all the words very quickly before leading the man into the bedroom. "Our son is with him, just so you aren't surprised." He knelt over the bed and gently nudged Hamish until the boy slipped away from John. "John, love, the doctor is here..." Sherlock didn't know what to do so he just stepped back out of the way and waited for John to wake up and talk to the doctor, spinning his ring the whole time.

                                "Huh?' John asked, reaching for Hamish out of instinct but finding that he had been moved to the other side of the bed, curled up in a ball exactly the same way Sherlock usually slept. He frowned a bit once Sherlock's words caught up with him and he sat up very slowly.

                                "Hello, Doctor Watson."  Dr. Evans had said in a quite tone and John appreciated the gentleness of it.

                                "Hello," He replied back weakly.

                                "Do you think you can tell me where the main source of the pain is?" John took a deep breath and actually tried to look up at the doctor properly but found his vision was somewhat blurred.

                                "Well, my vision is a fuzzy; I have this awful throbbing pain near my right temple." Dr. Evans nodded and sat on the edge of the bed to study John's eyes. He gently flashed a light in each of John's eyes, palpated his skull to look for injures, and applied light pressure to the sides of his neck checking his lymph nodes. He checked John's pulse, listened to his breathing, and took his time performing a fairly thorough but cursory examination. Sherlock stood leaning against the wall as he watched, but he was wound very tightly. The doctor continued on for a few minutes.

                                "Well the good news is you are suffering from a fairly standard migraine. The bad news is that we do not know if your injury to your head recently has created a migraine disorder or if this is a simple one time occurrence. You have the typical symptoms: light sensitivity, blurred vision, the pounding in your temples." The doctor was going to continue but John cut him off.

                                "What about the pale skin? I'm starting to feel a bit nauseated as well." John argued and Dr. Evans gave him what looked like a reassuring smile but it could also be frown if John stared for long enough.

                                "All very common with migraines. You know this John." Dr. Evans smiled again and John relaxed slightly. Sherlock however was now more concerned rather than relieved.

                                "He's never had a migraine before." Sherlock forced out, his words were quiet and full of the panic that was nagging at his heart. Dr. Evans bore Sherlock's panic easily, as he had seen it many times over the course of the young man's life. He waited until Sherlock stopped spinning his ring but  Sherlock only did it to stop the look on John's face. He moved over and ran his hand through Hamish's hair instead, giving himself something to focus on aside from the guilt and panic threatening him. "Should we be concerned that there was nerve damage?" Sherlock's voice carried gently to the doctor.

                                "Sherlock, I know that you want to be sure all the bases are covered. I applaud you for your increase in medical knowledge since I saw you last, however this is nothing to worry about. This sort of reaction is usually common with the type of blunt force head trauma you said he went through. Considering the other possible causes this is rather a blessing." He fished through his kit until he found a migraine specific medicine in a small packet. "This is a sample of one of the newer over the counter migraine pain relievers, John. Take two of these every six hours as needed for the next week. If things do not seem to lessen within the next few days call me again and I will come back." He handed the package to Sherlock who took it quickly and walked over to the window, reading the label in the thin sunlight filtering into the room. "You will be fine. Migraines are painful but we both know you'll get through this just fine. Especially if you rest and Sherlock takes good care of you." The doctor began closing up his kit, putting his things away. "You will likely feel sick for just a few days, no more than a week."

                                "A few days? It's Christmas." He complained. "I need to be out shopping and decorating the tree with my son." John argued raising his voice too much and making his head give a painful throb. He winced and the doctor smirked.

                                "Careful, John. You're going to be sensitive to sounds, lights, and even moving for a while. I am sure that your son would prefer you healthy to worrying about the trappings of Christmas."

                                "Don't worry John, it'll be fine." Sherlock said firmly, trying to convince him. Sherlock swept back towards the bed, setting the medicine down on the table. He was going to need help caring for John and accomplishing the necessary tasks, that much was obvious. If he could simply convince John to sleep he would talk to Mrs. Hudson... "You can rest while I get the tree setup and if you feel better after some sleep and your pills you and Hamish can decorate." Sherlock swallowed hard, trying to keep his internal emotional tug of war from showing in his actions or on his face. "Thank you Dr. Evans. I'll be sure he takes them as required." The doctor nodded and excused himself, letting himself out. Hamish wriggled in the bed till he was once again snuggled against John, grumbling when Sherlock tried to stop him.

                                "No, Sherlock." John said with a pout. "I want him here." He whispered, hating how childish it sounded. He gently pulled Hamish close to him and closed his eyes again. He had to. Keeping them open hurt. Everything hurt. The constant thump-thump-thump in his head made him want to scream but he forced himself to stay calm and try to go back to blissful sleep where that throbbing wasn't here anymore.  He wanted to curl up against Sherlock but he wasn't going to fool himself that Sherlock was calm enough to lay still in the bed and John was not looking forward to the motion sickness that would come from trying to get him to. "I want to take the medicine now." He mumbled, but he cringed when he heard the front door being shut. Too loud.

                Without a sound in the room Sherlock swept out of it, found a bottle of water and opened it, and returned gently nudging the bottle against John's hand and handing him the pill. He slipped an ice pack over John's forehead. Which flooded John with relief. He adjusted the pillows and blankets, readjusted the towel over the lap, and made sure again the curtains were secure. He was a bundle of nerves and panic but it didn't show on his face or in his movements. Only his eyes, flicking back and forth quickly as they did when 'scrolling through information,' betrayed him but they were hard to see in the darkened room. Hamish snuggled closer to John, clutching his shirt in his tiny hand.

                                "Rest," Sherlock said in a whisper. "I'll just be out in the living room so I don't keep you two awake." He promised, he needed to pace and he couldn't do it in here.

                                "Alright, but please try not to worry yourself sick. I'll be okay eventually." John promised and he couldn't even see Sherlock's face to read him properly. his vision was blurred again. He closed his eyes and tried his best to ignore the pain. Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

_Dr. Evans has informed he made a house call. What's wrong with John? MH_

 

                                "I'll try not to. Do you want me to go do the shopping or do you want me to wait?" Sherlock asked in a tiny whisper. He was standing near the door so the light from his phone wouldn't bother John.

 

_You're on holiday Mycroft, don't start meddling now. Your husband won't like it. But since I am sure you've already mentioned it to him or else he's overheard and now he's ALSO worried about John - he has a bad migraine. Since he suffered mild head trauma from our little scuffle yesterday I wanted to be absolutely sure he was okay. He refused to go to A &E yesterday so I called Dr. Evans today. Happy? SH_

 

                John thought for a moment, Christ even thinking hurt.

                                "Just do whatever will keep you from worrying. If you go shopping, have Mrs. Hudson come up in case Hamish wakes up and I can't take care of him."

 

_Greg asked me to text you. Why on earth would I be happy about such a thing? That's terrible. But you should be glad it's nothing severe. Could have been something much worse. I hope you do not start brooding over this. It wasn't your fault, brother mine. MH_

 

                Sherlock made a strangled noise as he read Mycroft's text - somewhere between a snort of laughter, a sigh of annoyance, and a sound of surprise. The noise made John groan and Sherlock felt a pang of guilt.

                                "I will John. I won't leave this flat if you're alone." He promised. He walked over and kissed John softly, just a flutter of lips. "Go to sleep."

                He stepped out of the room, leaving the door open only a crack and sweeping over to the couch. His ring spinning at high velocity on his left hand as he typed with his right and flung himself on the couch. He was cursing under his breath. He couldn't play the violin, or turn the telly on, he needed something to distracting himself. His eyes falling on the case file on the table.

 

_This is an interesting turn... I'm not surprised Greg asked you to do that. I am glad it's nothing severe and I'm not brooding. However it is my fault. I am the one who didn't calculate for the extra circumstances. You two enjoy your holiday, if you do get back before Christmas I could use someone here on Christmas Eve to be with John and Hamish so I can look at this bloody case your husband is so excited about. SH_

 

                Mycroft rolled his eyes as he read the text. He was currently sitting in a parked car, alone, while he waited for Greg who was inside a now empty home. There were four dead bodies inside. Four more deaths to this incredibly annoying case. They hadn't gone on holiday. Greg was so obsessed with the case that they couldn't leave. Mycroft had done everything persuade him but he insisted the case was more important because people were dying. To which Mycroft replied.

                                "People always die!" Then Greg explained it was children who were being killed, Mycroft quickly shut his mouth and here they were.

 

_We're not on a bloody holiday, thanks in no small part to you. You wouldn't look into the case; you wouldn't answer his messages, now he and I are trying to handle the case. Which means he is handling the case while I wait in the car because he doesn't think it's appropriate for his husband to be at a crime scene. MH_

 

_Shit..._

 

_Mycroft... I didn't come because John is upset. SH_

 

                Was he really going to tell his brother this? Was he... He sighed and realized he didn't have a choice. His brother was the only person in the world who understood how Sherlock worked aside from John.

 

_John has been very upset with me for being gone so often. Greg is constantly sending me cases and I have neglected my family because of it. Tell him to bring every piece of data he has and the two of you come here. You can babysit John and Hamish, I will solve the case, and somehow go do all of the Christmas shopping I need to do. I can't be in two places at once Mycroft. What do you want me to do? SH_

 

_...If he'll agree to it. At this point he is incredibly invested, Sherlock. He seems to be more attached to this case because young children seem to be getting killed more than the adults. He doesn't want another child to die. Of course, neither do I but I refuse to become emotionally invested. I will come regardless but I assume Greg will want to tag along with you. As for you Christmas shopping, I can have someone handle that for you if you would like. MH_

 

_I... Oh for God's sake Mycroft, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. My husband is injured and sad, my son is depressed, and I've managed to ruin even  your holiday by trying to fix everything. Fine, tell Greg to come here and he and I can solve this case. But someone HAS to be here with John and Hamish to protect and care for them. I won't leave them alone and if you stay here I will be trusting you to STAY and not to leave. SH_

 

                Sherlock jumped up and started pacing the entire length of the living room, spinning his room the entire time. His hands shaking as he tapped his phone against his leg. His mind was racing ten thousand miles a minute. He walked over and wrenched open the case file immediately focusing his mind on it. His attention narrowing quickly, his let out a huff of breath. Why? Why hadn't Greg told him it was _this_ case? For a year now he'd been dogging him, why hadn't he mentioned it? Sherlock's panic grew stronger, clawing at his chest.

 

_I'll stay. It's not like I have anywhere else to be. I can take care of them both. Though I do wish you'd stop being so dramatic. Your husband may be sad but your son is not depressed. Lonely maybe, but not depressed. We're on our way now and we'll be there soon judging by how fast Gregory is driving. He's being very rash with this case, Sherlock. Don't do anything to upset him. MH_

 

                                "You're going to kill us if you drive any faster, Gregory." Mycroft said as he gripped the door with one hand and his other hand holding his phone tightly. "Slow down. Having us get into a car crash will not save anyone's life."

                                "They're children, Mycroft. _Children_." Greg said earnestly but slowed down slightly. "Do you not understand how important that is? Surely even the Holmes brothers can understand that." He was upset, very, very upset. If Sherlock had just stepped back in on this case ages ago no one else would have died. He'd tried everything to get Sherlock to pick up the case but the man simply refused, not even bothering to look at what the case was.

_Do not chide me Mycroft. This is not the realm of normal for me. Hamish spends more time worrying than John does and we both know how large of a statement that is. I upset everyone, Mycroft. It's all I have ever been good at. Especially if you are the one to judge. SH_

 

                Sherlock was poring over the file trying to devour each and every detail as quickly as possible, but his mind was not his own. It was torn between new and old, between man and machine. He let out a soft growl in frustration. At this rate everything would be ruined. Meanwhile Mycroft was almost exploding with annoyance between his brooding and irrational brother and his rather increasingly unstable husband.

                                "I understand that it is important. However if you want a case to get solved I have told you getting emotional about it is only going to pose a problem. You're too attached." He hissed. Mycroft couldn't help it. How come people got so attached to things? Couldn't they see being attached only made things worse? 

 

_Oh for heaven’s sake, Sherlock. Calm down. You're brooding. Take a breath. Just because things are not picture perfect it doesn't mean that it is all your fault. Your son worries because he doesn't see you and John enough as he should. But that's not your fault. It's honestly no one’s fault. You have to work. He'll grow to understand. But after this case is solved, I promise to talk to Gregory about finding someone else to call if you do not want to work a case. MH_

 

                                "You've got that look on your face again." Greg said softly with a wry smirk as they pulled up to Baker Street. Mycroft had his focused but concerned look on his face. The one that he always got when he was worrying about his brother. He smirked at the confused expression on Mycroft's face. "The one that reminds me you really are related to Sherlock Holmes."

 

_Do not treat me like a child, Mycroft. This is serious. SH_

_Thank you. SH_

                Mycroft stared at his husband for a moment, trying to ignore how sentimental that all sounded. He was worried about Sherlock but he was not about to admit it. If he started to acknowledge his feelings now, he would not be able to stop himself from doing it for the rest of the day. Christmas was a tricky holiday and the last thing he needed was his calm destroyed.

                                "I suppose I have to make some sort expression similar to his, he is my brother. We share some of the same features." Mycroft got out of the car before Greg could point out that wasn't what he meant.  He hurried into the house and up the stairs ignoring how Mrs. Hudson ordered him to slow down because his noise would wake John. He rolled his eyes and mumbled:

                                "Apologies," as Greg finally caught up with him on the stairs, still wearing that smirk.

                Sherlock was so focused on the case file he didn't notice Hamish until he almost tripped over him in his pacing track. Hamish rubbed his sleepy eyes and Sherlock was forced to smile because he'd somehow found one of John's button downs and slipped it on. It dragged slightly on the ground and the sleeves were far too long. He held his arms out asking Sherlock to hold him. Sherlock hesitated a moment as he normally did not try to hold Hamish when he was in case mode but the little boy looked so desperate for the affection he could not deny him. He swept him up in his arms and looked down at his face.

                                "Is Daddy okay?" He whispered.

                                "Yes love. He's just a bit ill. The doctor came and said he would be fine if we let him rest." He sighed. "'Mish, Papa needs your help." Hamish's face tightened and Sherlock knew the boy already understood what Sherlock was going to say. The guilt deepened. "Papa has to go to work." He sat down on the couch and the boy turned to look at him, tears beginning. "Listen, please don't cry okay? Papa has to because there are bad people hurting children and your Uncle Greg wants to stop them right away. We don't want any other children to be hurt. Papa is the only one who can stop them... " He whispered his voice tight. Hamish looked confused.

                                "Are you sad Papa?" He wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling himself up to standing in Sherlock's lap and pressing himself to Sherlock's chest.

                                "I am. I don't want to leave you and Daddy, but I can't let any more children get hurt. Please forgive me..." He whispered and Hamish smiled a little.

                                "Okay Papa. You go save them; I'll take care of Daddy."

                                "Your Uncle Mycroft will be here to help." Sherlock promised. "I'm very sorry I have to go..."

                                "It's alright Papa. Daddy always says you stop the bad people. He says you're the only one who can if Uncle Greg can't." Sherlock and Hamish looked up as Greg and Mycroft appeared on the stairs. Sherlock's brow suddenly furrowed, a realization sweeping over him. Hamish moved to the side just as Sherlock leapt up off the couch, leaving the poor boy affronted.

                                "It's connected..." Sherlock said suddenly and jumped up. "Oh... Oh!!" He ran over to the file and threw page after page in the air until he found a specific one. "IDIOT!" He said in a loud whisper.

                                "Hello to you too..." Greg smirked.

                                "Hello Uncles..." Hamish said quietly, he looked down, shuffling his feet slightly. He got down off the couch and walked over to them, sadly flicking one of the sleeves of his shirt. "Uncle My... I'm sorry for yesterday..."

                                "Hamish it's fine." Mycroft said, giving him a soft smile but it was clear he was focused on Sherlock. "What on earth are you talking about? And stop throwing paper about you'll give someone a paper cut." He scolded darkly, heaving a sigh as he turned toward Hamish and lifted into his arms. He gave him a kiss on the cheek, greeting his nephew and knowing that Sherlock was no longer able to entertain "Daddy" mode as he was in full on case mode.

                                "Why are you wearing such a big shirt?" He asked Hamish, clearly surprised that the boy would want to wear his father's clothing.

                                "It smells like Daddy." Hamish said softly, shrugging.

                                "It's connected." Sherlock said again with emphasis, directly to Greg and his brother. His eyes on Hamish and holding up a picture of one of the crime scenes. Mycroft followed Sherlock's gaze and realized what he was saying. Greg however was still clueless, looking between the brothers with crossed arms and waiting for an explanation.

                                "To the case that brought you Hamish." Mycroft stated firmly, but confusion evident on his face. "I thought you solved that case. Didn't you two catch the person who committed all those murders?"  Greg frowned.

                                 "No, we didn't. Once Sherlock and John became busy with Hamish I couldn't get Sherlock to come look into the case with me. I've had people looking into this but it's just untraceable." Sherlock snorted. "For us. No fingerprints found. No DNA. Nothing."

                                "Wonderful." Mycroft sighed, Greg was being incredibly stupid. He was feeding Sherlock's guilt. "I suppose this will the afford you the opportunity to solve the case." Mycroft said before turning his gaze back to Hamish. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather wear your own clothing?" He asked a bit firmly, as if encouraging him. Hamish however did not relent.

                                "No." Hamish said sternly. "I want to wear Daddy's shirt." Sherlock was all over the room, from the kitchen to his laptop, to the couch, and back. Mycroft gave up watching him, easily ignoring his brother's frantic movements. Greg however drank it in, relief spreading through him that Sherlock was finally joining him on the case.

                                "No we lost the trail. But they didn't..." Sherlock started typing away on his laptop furiously, trailing off as he finished the sentence in his head. Tracing addresses and looking for a pattern. "Shut up!" He snapped and Greg just sighed knowing it was directed at him. Sherlock paced away from the computer and back, then away again. "Here!" He snapped suddenly and pointed to an article about a family who was relocated after their house caught fire about a year before. The picture showed a young couple and a small red haired boy at least a year younger than Hamish. "Where are they, Greg? They are next. I'm so stupid..." He was already throwing on his coat and scarf.

                                "You get 'em Papa!" Hamish cheered. Greg walked over to the computer and looked at the family.

                                "Christ, I remember them." He said with shock and when Sherlock shouted his question again, he sighed and stood.  "I don't have the exact address but I know they live in a flat in Lambeth. It was a cheap place. They couldn't afford much after their house burnt down. No insurance and the woman didn't have a job." He walked over to Mycroft and gave Mycroft a peck on the lips, not caring how flustered he would get. "We'll be back." He promised and then he looked to Hamish. "If your Uncle My..." Mycroft glared. "Mycroft," He finished sighing. "Starts to be mean just tickle his tummy. Always gets him laughing." He whispered in his ear and pulled away with a bright grin.

                                "Sherlock tell your son to put his own clothing on." Mycroft began but Sherlock just glared.

                                "Hamish, when the tree gets here I want you to show your Uncle the blue box in your closet. Wake your Daddy gently and see if he wants to help." Hamish giggled and nodded.

                                "Okay Papa." He leaned out so Sherlock could hug and kiss him.

                                "I love you 'Mish."

                                "Kiss Daddy goodbye!" Hamish scolded.

                                "I will." Sherlock swept towards the bedroom, he slipped in barely letting any light in.

                                "When the tree gets here?" Mycroft looked confused.

                                "Daddy bought us a big Christmas tree and they are bringing it to us!" Hamish giggled again, flipping the sleeves of the button down around as he gestured.

                                "Aw that's precious." Greg said with a smile. He took Hamish into his arms to nuzzle his nose. "Uncle Mycroft will help you decorate, Maybe Daddy too if he feels better." Greg promised him. He saw the look of disdain on Mycroft's face and he sighed. "Get into the Christmas spirit love, for your nephew." He pleaded before he let Hamish down onto the floor. He watched the little one run over to the couch and crawl onto it saying he wanted to watch a Christmas movie until the tree got here. Hamish flipped on the telly and clicked through the channels quietly, Greg just watching him fondly. "Mycroft, play along and maybe if you're good Santa will bring you a _treat_." He winked and couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips when he watched his husband's face turn a bit red.  Mycroft simply strode over and sat on the couch beside Hamish. Beginning to roll the sleeves of the shirt up for Hamish, who giggled.

                                "I will try." He said, still blushing.

                                "Good boy," Greg said, still wearing the smirk as he walked toward the door.

                                "John, love," Sherlock whispered leaning down towards him. "Greg and I are going to catch the people who murdered Hamish's parents. There's another boy in danger. This is the case Greg has been bothering me about, it needs to be solved now. Mycroft is here and Hamish is with him. Rest and I will be home soon." John was aware of the throbbing pain in his head before he even registered what Sherlock said. He sat up carefully, wincing as the throbbing seemed worse.  He forced his brain out of sleep and to focus on the situation at hand, his body immediately trying to convince him to get up and go out on the case with him.

                                "How do you know it's the people who murdered Hamish's parents?" He asked, his voice very soft as he rubbed his temples. He couldn't even find it in him too be upset that Sherlock was leaving. The pain was too severe.  

                                "We never caught the murderers. And the case Greg wanted me to look at were two other murders where the children were also killed. I think it's some sort of scheme. People with money pay poor couples to conceive and then take the babies. The families are left well off and the rich families get an heir. But I think some of these families become attached to their children and go on the run to try to keep them. There is another family that I think is in danger right now. I'm sorry. Greg wouldn't let Mycroft take him on holiday until it was solved and I didn't want Greg to get hurt because we both know he can't suspend judgment when his emotion is involved. I have to go... I talked to Hamish he understands..." Sherlock was trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him, but his voice betrayed it. His words slipping our rapidly and without his normal focused manner.

                                "Sherlock! I'd hate to rush you but we need to go!" Greg shouted and when Hamish snapped him for shouting he bit his lip, "Sorry." He mumbled. When John heard the shout, he cringed and covered his ears, his head falling on to Sherlock's shoulder. He gave a whimper, the throbbing behind his eyes hurt so much.

                                "Of course he understands," He whispered, thankful when he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around him. "I understand too. You have to go. I should have let you answer his texts earlier. I'm so sorry, Sherlock." He was crying now, mostly because of the pain in his head but part of it was because he felt guilty on so many levels for what was happening. He clawed into Sherlock's shirt for a moment before letting go.

                                "Sh..." Sherlock whispered softly and he pressed gently kisses to John's forehead. "Hush love, tears will only make it worse. I promise everything is okay. We should be able to catch the murders at this house, get the shopping done, and be back before dinner. Greg and I will be careful and I'll come right back home to you. Everything's okay..." Sherlock's voice was tight, panic rising in his stomach. "Please love... Rest. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson will help with Hamish you just rest. I'll be home before you know it..." He promised.

                                "Uncle, I'm going to go help with Daddy... Sometimes he doesn't like to let Papa go out on cases and Papa needs to go now." Hamish said, getting down and sneaking into the bedroom. He crawled up in the bed and hugged John. "Papa, I'll take care of Daddy. I promise. You go get the bad men." He whispered.

                                "That boy could pass for a full blooded Holmes..." Mycroft said as his face tensed.

                                "He acts just like the perfect mixture of the both of them. He worries, he's smart like Sherlock but also caring and kind like John. I hate that he worries so much though. Children shouldn't worry so much. But... I guess in this line of work they always worry." Greg frowned moving to sit on the couch next to his husband. He did have experience with this after all. He was a father despite the fact his children chose not to see him much anymore. "When my girls were little they used to worry themselves sick whenever I went to work. I'd come home at three in the morning and they'd all be piled on the couch together waiting for me." He chuckled, an odd sound considering the sadness in his heart due to the changes that had occurred. "They don't worry about me anymore. Hell they don't even call me."  Since the divorce from his wife he didn't get to see the kids much anymore. Maybe once every few months if he was lucky. But they didn't want to see him. He knew part of it was that his wife had convinced the girls that it was wrong that Greg was now married to a man.

                                "I'll be okay, Sherlock. Really. Go. Go catch them." John whispered, forcing his tears to slow as he hugged Hamish close to him. Inhaling his little boy scent and allowing it to relax his mind. Sherlock wanted to scream. He knew if he hesitated any longer the murderers would strike but he desperately wanted to remain by his family.

                                "I'm sorry..." He whispered and he kissed the top of both their heads before sweeping off and out the door, Greg having to run after him to keep up. Sherlock had no words even as Greg scolded him down the stairs, he was too wrapped up inside his head.

                                "It's okay Daddy," Hamish whispered to John as they heard the door downstairs snap shut. "Papa will come home..." He snuggled closer to him, humming the song John used to hum for him when he couldn't sleep. He hummed it very softly and smiled as John relaxed a bit and sank to sleep, Hamish succumbing to sleep himself just a few minutes later.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are considering writing a Mystrade fic that explains their side of Save Him and this story. We're busy working on a story called Experiments at the moment, but stay tuned!


	3. The Heart of the Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Greg race to the scene of the case where the outcome means things take a drastic turn for both of the Holmes families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out to you guys. It required a lot of editing as the roleplay format when we are each playing so many characters is easy, but putting it in story form where it flows nicely is rather a challenge! I also worked harder on the editing as I wanted to improve the typos and language a bit, so hopefully this will show improvement over the previous chapters! ~Holly
> 
> As a reminder for the cast:
> 
> Sherlock, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Hamish - Holly  
> John, Greg Lestrade, and the new character Marius - Cay

                Once Greg finally made it outside he looked around until he spotted Sherlock trying to wave down a cab. He stopped him, grabbing his arm before motioning towards his own car. Sherlock didn't seem to catch on for a moment, too lost in his thoughts to be aware of what was going on around him. However, when Greg approached the car with his keys in hand, the detective turned and rushed over. Sherlock's mind was already running at top speed and his face betrayed the slight war between emotions going on inside the normally calm and collected detective. Greg could already tell this was not going to be a pleasant experience.

                                "We'll get there faster in my car. Shall I drive?” He asked tentatively and Sherlock simply nodded. His mind was already too focused to speak. He got in the car, rushed Greg in, and then immediately started sorting through details in his head while they were driving.

                                "Damn it. I should have caught them before. I should not have let this case drop." He growled at himself, flicking his hands back and forth around his temples as he sorted through data in his mind palace. Usually he would have done this first but there was no time now. "How many children have died Greg? How many have died while I let his case slip?!" His voice was demanding but held a softness that gave away what he was thinking and feeling. Greg bit his lip as he started up the car, he knew that tone and it was not a good tone. Sherlock was feeling guilty and he was looking for more information to confirm that his guilt was well placed and to berate himself with. That tone lead to drug relapses, suicidal nights on the bridges over the Thames, and more recently John and Hamish in tears.

                                "You don't want to know, Sherlock." He said firmly as he began to pull off of Baker Street. Trying to dissuade Sherlock from demanding more information. "Once you know it weighs on you. Its best you don't know.” Sherlock went to protest and Greg sighed. “Let's just say more than two." He whispered, his own guilt cracking through his normally calm voice.

                                "This is my fault..." Sherlock muttered softly, surprising Greg again. Sherlock didn't often admit he'd done something wrong and usually if he did it meant he felt like he'd really bungled it all up. "It's at least six... No, more than six." Greg sighed as Sherlock's eyes focused on him, he didn't even want to know how Sherlock was figuring all of that out, likely the lines on his face or some such nonsense. "This is why you've been so keen on having Hamish around. You realized this was connected before and never told me because you didn't want to upset me. You don’t know how to handle me now that I’ve show emotion and become a parent… So you were trying to keep me from feeling guilty about taking time away with Hamish while at the same time you were trying to get me to pick up the case again. That's why you gave me such vague information..." He said darkly, automatically spinning his ring. "Damn it. I'm sorry Greg. I let you down. We _will_ stop them this time." His voice only got darker and Greg sighed, it made him uncomfortable. Hearing Sherlock admit he was wrong made him uncomfortable to begin with, but now here it was Sherlock was apologizing and taking all of the guilt on himself. It wasn’t a promising start to this journey.

                                "Don't apologize to me. You didn't let me down. We both let those families down. The both of us." Greg assured him and sped up. Traffic was going to get a bit dicey ahead of them so he slammed his foot down on the accelerator. "Hold tight, we have to beat the traffic. Christ, I wish I still kept my flashing lights in my car." He sighed and when he saw Sherlock's quirked eyebrow added: "Mycroft said it looked tacky to carry them around all the time." His voice betrayed his annoyance at Mycroft's apparent fashion advice, but he let it go quickly. He tried to focus on the road ahead, driving a bit recklessly but trying to get them to the family as quickly as possible. "Do you think you'll be able to tell which building they're in? I know the general area but I don't know exactly where they settled in. It'll be a place where the rent isn't too much. I remember the young woman worrying about the cost of rent because she was staying home with the boy."

                                "There's a row of flats not far from the road in that area, that I believe are quite cheap and sadly rather rundown. I would imagine they moved in there. The fire at their previous residence was likely a warning from the trafficking agency when they chose to keep the child. They would have abandoned the original house that was purchased for them as part of the arrangement involving the child. We'll likely be able to spot it easily because of the boy that lives there. They'll have tried to provide him enough toys to make up for their on the run life style..." The sound of the spinning ring was for once not doing anything to soothe him but he didn't stop the motion. Instead he furrowed his brow further and looked somewhere between utterly confused and deathly murderous. "All of this for child trafficking. It's obscene."

                                "We'll get there before anything happens. We have to." Greg insisted, almost as if he said the words out loud it would magically make it so. Too many families had died because of his mistakes. Because of their mistakes. They had to fix it. "Stop spinning that God damn ring, Sherlock. I can't think straight." He snapped a few moments later. Sherlock however did not comply, in fact he didn't even make a sound of recognition at the order instead keeping his eyes focused ahead. They finally reached the area where Greg said the family lived and quickly got out of the car. Greg sighed and against his better judgment looked to Sherlock for instructions. "Tell me what to do." He snapped darkly.

                                "Stop abusing me, for one." Sherlock snapped, his patience already worn thin. He knelt down, surveying the area. His coat billowing out behind him as he knelt down to look not at the houses themselves but the yards in front of them. "There." He said quickly and pointed to a house across the way. The door was ajar and they could hear angry shouting. "Gun out, now." He commanded and from somewhere amongst his many pockets he withdrew a pistol, tightening his grip around it. The two swept silently toward the house. Greg did a precursory check of the area noting that only one car aside from theirs was on the desolate street. When they approached the door Sherlock held up a finger, a little boy could be heard crying. Sherlock held Greg back with a hand trying to assess the scene from the voices.

                                "Come on lady, you don't have to die. Just give us the boy." A man with a deep voice said softly.

                                "No, we don't want to give him up. We gave everything back! He's ours now!" The woman shouted.

                                "The boy goes with us." A second man grunted in a growling voice.

                                "Mummy!" The little boy's voice rang out in terror.

                                "We don't have much time." Sherlock whispered and motioned for Greg to lead. He was the trained police officer. Greg took a deep breath and looked to Sherlock. 

                                "Alright, follow my lead." He ordered and without a word he kicked the door the rest of the way open. He didn't think it would help but he felt it was better to give the impression of force. When the woman shouted in shock he turned easily to face her. A short, stocky man was holding her around the middle, growling at the intrusion. Greg pointed his gun at the man who smirked because under the woman's arm he was aiming a pistol back at Greg's chest. "You're under arrest. Drop the gun." He hissed. The man didn't move an inch and simply kept smirking. "I said drop the gun and get down on the ground!" He shouted when the man didn't move. If Greg had been more aware of the situation he would have felt a bit of relief when Sherlock pulled the little boy out from between the cabinet and the refrigerator. As Sherlock moved the boy behind him he began towards the man holding his mother.

                                "Put the gun down or you leave this room in body bag." Sherlock hissed lowly, rage apparent in every line of his body. The woman started shrieking in confusion, two new men had just burst into her house and pointed guns around. Her husband lay dead in the other room, having given his life to protect her and their son. Whom she now thought was in terrible danger. At first she didn't stop shrieking even as the man behind her clenched her hard in surprise; but after a few moments she suddenly recognized Greg and stopped screaming.

                                "Detective." She gasped with relief, Greg barely nodding.

                Greg was intent on his task, his focus on the boy and the woman, so much so that he didn't see the shadow snaking its' way towards him. Sherlock however did and saw that the other man had stolen around the far side of the kitchen and was about to get the drop on the Detective Inspector. Sherlock swept over just in time to stop the pistol from colliding with Greg's head. The man seized Sherlock around the shoulders and the two struggled before falling to the floor.

                                "Get the boy outside!" He barked at Greg, as he and the man squared off.

                Greg swept boy in his arms as the first gun man took advantage of the panic and grabbed the woman, throwing her into the hallway. The woman was screaming for Greg, who ended up setting the little boy back down just inside the pantry before bursting into the hallway. He aimed at the man and told him again to drop his weapon. The man scuffling with Sherlock was trying to get his pistol around to aim it at the lithe detective and in their struggle it went off. Sherlock cursed as the bullet drug a shallow track through the top of his shoulder and buried itself into the floor just beside his head. He shifted easily to bring his opposite elbow into the jaw of his attacker, rendering him unconscious. The other man tore back into the kitchen, chasing the woman. She frantically clamored through the kitchen and into the back hall, Greg on their heels. Sherlock scooped up the little red haired boy and held him close as he called Donovan for backup.

                                "I've got the boy, go!" He kept his pistol aimed at the man on the floor as he shouted at Greg. He then shouted in the phone, on speaker, for Sally to send backup and an ambulance.

                Greg took off as fast as he could and cursed the day he'd stopped working out because he wasn't as fast as he used to be. He heard a shot fired and ducked out of the way, rolling behind some bins before firing a shot back. The man ducked around the house and before Greg could catch him burst back into the flat to find Sherlock trying to calm Marius. Just as the woman walked back into the room and sighed with relief that Marius was safe the assailant burst into the kitchen and fired a shot, hitting her in the chest. Sherlock shouted and set the boy down before rushing over to try to staunch the bleeding but shouted in surprise when a shot rang out and the assailant screamed, a bullet hole gaping in his leg.

                                "You're under the arrest." Greg said breathlessly, but turned to try to help Sherlock.

                                "Mummy!" The little boy shouted at the sight of his mother gasping and choking on the floor. "Mummy!" He sobbed again, kicking and screaming against Sherlock as he held his arm out to keep him back. The boy desperate to get to her.

                                "Donovan hurry!" Sherlock shouted as he dropped the phone. He moved over and tried everything he knew to stop the blood and help keep her alive, cursing everything that John wasn't with him. "What's your name?" He asked the little boy as the woman gasped.

                                "Ma..Marius..." She forced out, looking up at Sherlock.

                                "It'll be alright, Marius." Sherlock said softly, trying to calm the boy. But he didn't have to be a doctor to know the woman wasn't going to make it. Greg was suddenly on his knees beside them trying to help Sherlock however he could.

                                "Keep him... Safe... Detective." She whispered, turning to Greg as she finally succumbed to darkness. Sherlock's face was tight; his entire body was wound overly tight with emotion as he tried to not give in to guilt. His breath was ragged and his eyes unfocused. Greg felt his heart sink, guilt sweeping through his body and he fought not to look at Sherlock. Sirens gave away that Donovan had done her part and sent the necessary backup, but it was too late. They were too late... Again.

                                "It'll be okay, Marius..." Sherlock whispered as reassuringly as he was able.

                                "Mummy." The boy kept crying over and over again. Not being soothed by Sherlock's words at all. The child knew something was very wrong. His Mummy was bleeding and she wasn't moving anymore. He didn't know what exactly that meant but he knew it wasn't good. "Mummy!" He sobbed again. He had no idea he'd lost both his parents at the tender age of two. He didn't know his father was even in the house, having believed he was still at work. Greg helped the officers get the two assailants into police cars and then helped do a sweep of the house. Sherlock had scooped the boy up again, trying his best to soothe him with his injured arm. Greg came back down the stairs and felt Sherlock's guilt as if it was his own. The Detective's face betraying every sentimental thing he was feeling.

                                "Sh. The Doctors are going to try to fix Mummy." Greg whispered to the child who actually seemed to calm a little, he reached out for Greg to take him and Greg easily pulled the little boy into his arms. He seemed calmer but he still cried. "I want Mummy." He sobbed and Greg hated the pang of guilt and heartache in his chest.

                Sherlock looked wrecked. Donovan finally walked in and she paused as she looked at Sherlock in pure confusion. She'd never seen his expression so open before. He had blood on his hands, on his jacket, and coming from his shoulder but he didn't seem to be aware of it. He was numb and in shock. He let himself be guided backwards by her as the medics tended to the woman. He kept backing out of the way until Sally forced him to sit down in a chair. He looked almost broken, disappointment and guilt clear on his face. Everything was moving in slow motion around him. Greg had the boy held tightly against his chest, the boys face buried in Greg's jacket. He was trying to sooth him by bouncing him gently as he paced.

                                "Sh," Greg repeated every so often. Marius just kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

                                "Mummy." When Sally came and told him that the boy's father was in the bedroom already dead he sighed.

                                "Get him out of here. I don't want him to see." He whispered as he closed the kitchen door. Sherlock was sitting at the table while the medics worked on his arm. His expression was... Shattered. He almost looked as if he was the one who had lost his parents. Greg slowly walked into the room, keeping his eyes on the floor. "We did what we could, Sherlock." He whispered, trying to reassure him while not waking Marius. Who had finally cried himself to sleep.

                                "I hesitated too long." Sherlock replied softly, his mind clearly distant. He was spinning his ring but very slowly, his eyes still completely unfocused. If Greg didn't know John and Hamish were at home waiting for Sherlock he would put him on drug watch. "If we'd left straight away..." He looked up at Greg, emotion clear on his face. "His name is Marius." Sherlock said blankly and Greg nodded.

                 Once the medic was done patching his shoulder Sherlock stood and swept straight out of the house where he started pacing by the car. He was muttering to himself as he did it, ignoring everything around him as the police and medics came and went. Greg spoke with Sally for several minutes, explaining the situation and asking her to look into what if any relatives the little boy had left. She suggested taking him to an orphanage or shelter for the time being but Greg couldn't bear the thought. The little boy had just lost his parents and apparently felt safe enough with Greg to rest. Greg couldn't see shoving him in the corner of some orphanage to be forgotten about. He needed someone who would care for him properly, who would try to make sure he still had a happy Christmas. What Greg didn't want to admit is that he didn't want anyone _else_ taking care of the boy.

                                "No, I can take care of him." He said quickly.

                                "What makes you think you're more qualified?" She asked softly.

                                "I already have two teenage daughters. It's almost Christmas, Donovan. Have a heart." He snapped and she just fell silent and waved him off. Greg walked out towards the car, biting his lip as he saw Sherlock's fevered pacing and overheard him muttering things like "All my fault," and "Not good enough." He sighed and shifted the boy in his arms carefully. "Sherlock, I hate to ask you this but do you think you can drive us back to Baker Street. I'm holding Marius and I'm afraid he'll wake up if I move him." He explained and when Sherlock didn't immediately answer he sighed. However thirty seconds later Sherlock's attention snapped up to him and he spoke.

                                "I can drive." Sherlock finally said after snapping his focus back. "But we have to stop a few places on the way. I promised John." He mumbled and took the keys. He gently helped Greg into the car. "And after all it's Christmas soon and we can't have a child staying at Baker Street who isn't getting presents." He forced everything down and away, more adeptly than Greg had ever seen him do before. He started the car and began the drive to the first stop. Greg didn't object to the stops, his attention was completely focused on Marius. Plus Sherlock wanted to do this and he was in no state to argue with an emotionally compromised Sherlock. They had been too late. The guilt was weighing on him just as much as he could tell it was weighing on Sherlock. They both were tense, they could still hear Marius crying softly in his sleep, his tears wouldn't stop. That painful, gut wrenching cry wouldn't leave their ears.

\---

                Meanwhile back at Baker Street Mycroft had been keeping careful guard of the two other Holmes men. He stood near the bedroom door for almost two hours watching  over John and Hamish as they slept. When John finally shifted to looked and see who was in the flat with them he finally spoke up. He knew John was upset that the boys had gone to the case, but he also knew it was a necessary evil.

                                "John, if you need anything I'm here." He whispered softly, with a gentleness that surprised John. Though his tone was greatly appreciated.

                                "I'm fine. I'll be fine." John mumbled grumpily as he moved very slowly to lie back down. He held Hamish close, hating that his son was the one having to comfort him. His brow furrowed in anger as his mind drifted momentarily to Sherlock and worried that he was in danger. He felt the slight shift in Mycroft’s energy though and turned to look at him for a moment. He was going to say something snappish but he seemed to think better of himself and instead said: "Thank you, Mycroft. But I really just need to rest at the moment. Just let me know when the tree gets here. I want to try to help decorate." He insisted. He kissed the top of Hamish's head and gently rubbed his back "My little 'Mish," He whispered softly, smiling as the boy's bright eyes turned up to look at him. "You've been so very good this year. Santa is going to give you everything you want." He promised with a sniff, his tears easing some.

                                "You can only help if you don't feel bad." Hamish said in a quiet but stern voice to John, the commanding tone he’d learned from his detective father. Mycroft closed the door and retreated to the living room, leaving the two of them alone.

                                "Maybe if I can sleep for a bit I'll feel better, okay?  You don't have to sleep with me if you don't want to. You can go in the living room or turn on the telly if you want. Just keep the sound turned down." He kissed his cheek once more before drifting off. Hamish just nodded and snuggled into John, clinging to his shirt as he drifted off as well.

                In the living room Mycroft was texting up a storm from the moment he sat down until Mrs. Hudson came upstairs with a pot of soup. She smirked at the scene before her as she entered. Mycroft was sitting in Sherlock’s chair with his jacket off looking like a guard dog. He sat stiffly, trying to act like he didn't belong when it was obvious he really felt comfortable there. She smiled more broadly as he looked up at her.

                                "Oh, did they leave?" She asked quietly.

                                "John's in bed with Hamish. Sherlock had to attend to a case with Greg." Mycroft seemed to have a sudden inspiration and he swept up to help her take the soup in the kitchen. She was surprised when he took the pot from her and set it down on the stove. He turned back to her, eyeing her for a moment which she bore easily. After all Sherlock was constantly deducting her."Mrs. Hudson, do you know anything about Hamish's Christmas' list?" He asked softly and she smiled. She walked over and took it off the fridge.

                                "They put it up months ago, but he adds to it every few days." She scanned it quickly. "I think there were one or two other things that aren't on here...  Sherlock would know best as he is often asking Hamish what else he might want. I’ll leave you to your work, just tell John to eat some soup when he can. It helps with those headaches."

                                "I will, thank you. There should be a Christmas tree delivery sometime shortly." She nodded and went back downstairs. Mycroft continued his texts, focused on the screen as he did. His phone lit up in his hand, vibrating as a call came in. "Anthea, _there_ you are." Mycroft said quietly, in an exasperated voice as he answered his phone. "Did you get the image I sent you?" A pause. "Good, I want all of it here in an hour. No questions asked. I also wanted everything necessary for a traditional Christmas dinner and the list of items I sent you prior to the picture. Do not argue with me or I will put you on call for Christmas. Tell Matthew to go buy enough blue Christmas decorations to cover a tree taller than he is. All of it, I want it to look like it belongs in Buckingham." He hung up and started pacing a bit.

                                "The tree is here." Mrs. Hudson said softly from the doorway a short while later and helped move the arm chairs so the tree could be situated near the bookshelf and the window. It was just the right size to leave room for the star on top without it touching the ceiling. "Oh it'll be beautiful." She gushed.

                                "You have no idea." Mycroft smirked just slightly and then chuckled when he caught her eye. She was grinning her knowing grin. She patted him on the arm and then returned downstairs. A short while later Mycroft stood from his seat on the couch and moved to the door. "Ah Matthew, perfect. You can leave it all right there on the couch." Mycroft smiled as the man brought in several large bags up to the flat. Anthea and another man were not far behind him. The three of them made six trips to the car. Mycroft surveyed the receipts that Anthea handed him and hummed in approval.

                                "Sir, I thought you were going on holiday? Er, on holiday to France." Matthew asked quietly.

                                "Plans change Matthew." Mycroft said it sternly and the man fell silent. Mycroft did a final check of everything making a woeful face at the state of the refrigerator but seeing to it that the food was properly and safely stored. "Off you go." He waved the three of them out of the flat.

                                Hamish woke a bit later and gently uncurled himself from John's grip, slipping out of the bed and padding out to the main room. He went into the bathroom and came out about ten minutes later, his hands still wet from washing them. Mycroft almost laughed because the sleeves had unrolled and he looked absolutely adorable in his father's oversized shirt with his bed head and sleepy eyes. Mycroft would never admit it, but despite not being Sherlock’s biological son, the boy looked startlingly like his brother had when he was that age.He saw tree and started to get excited, clapping his hands softly and bouncing on the balls of his feet. What he didn't notice, because it was cleverly hidden in the corner was the small mountain of gifts.

                                "The tree!" He clapped his hands too loudly once and then looked back to the bedroom with worry.

                                "Sh, we'll let Daddy sleep a little more and then we'll wake him. Come help your Uncle make tea." Mycroft motioned and Hamish complied easily.

\---

                                "They probably killed any other family members he has." Greg said in a whisper as he ran his fingers through the boys' red hair. Sherlock was quiet, driving them on towards their needed stops, he was sure they'd stopped at fifteen different stores and he'd seen Sherlock texting Mycroft at least twice. Greg sighed because if they had killed his family or if he didn't have anyone else he wanted to keep Marius. He absolutely hated the idea of him all alone in orphanage, but he didn’t know how his all business husband would handle the thought. "I can't imagine what I am going to tell Mycroft," He whispered sounding even more worried. What if Mycroft wouldn't agree to keeping him?

                                "Don't worry... The moment he sees him, he will know." Sherlock promised his voice still distant. "He's like Hamish. Mycroft might not want us to know it but he is jealous of John and I... You aren't the only one attached to Hamish..." Sherlock stopped at another place. "Stay here with him, I'll be right back." And with that he swept inside. He was gone only a minute before he returned with a wrapped parcel. Then he dashed across the street, returning with a slip of paper that he tucked into his jacket pocket. Two more shops down and they had two large bags in the back seat full of things for Marius. "He'll need clothes. I'm sure some of Hamish's things might work, but the shop owner said those looked to be the right size. Let's take him to the flat and see if we can get him cleaned up and perhaps at least warm and comfortable." Sherlock's mind was burning as it raced through details but outside he seemed normal, calm, and collected. Greg was still having trouble following where Sherlock was emotionally. All hints of the guilt he had been feeling at the crime scene were gone, but Greg knew the detective well enough to know it was still boiling dangerously under the surface.

                                "Sherlock, you really didn't have to do that." Greg said slowly, the frown still on his face. He was actually quite surprised but he didn't want to admit it. "I mean, I'm very grateful but I'm sure Mycroft and I could have done that. You didn't have to." He assured him and looked down because Marius had finally started to stir again.

                                "Mummy," He whimpered and Greg's heart broke all over again. He didn't know what to say, what to tell him. How does one tell a two year old his parents have both died? How do you explain death to a child? The boy snuggled closer to Greg and fell back asleep.

                                "I don't know what I'm going to do," He said, his voice thick and the tears close to spilling out of his eyes.

                                "You tell him that for his Mummy and Daddy there is no more pain, no more suffering. That the bad people will pay for what they've done and that if you have any control over it, you'll make sure he never has another bad day in his entire life." Sherlock said it so quickly it was almost as if he'd memorized it.  Sherlock’s voice was a bit hollow as he spoke, betraying some deep emotion. Greg furrowed his brow and looked over at Sherlock, noting the tightened look of his features. "I have to tell Hamish that at least once a month. It's what we told him when he finally asked us at a year old, why he didn't have the Mummy he barely remembered. And as far as the clothing goes I know I didn't have to do it, but I did. He needs comfort and continuity right now."

                                "That's not even it. I can do that, Sherlock. I can tell him that she's in a better place but how do you explain that a two year old that his mother and father aren't coming back? Death isn't exactly an easy concept for toddlers." He said knowingly and kissed the side of Marius head once he had finally drifted off back to sleep, still whimpering. He looked up as he felt Sherlock stiffen, the way he did when he felt insulted.

                                "I'm telling you how, Greg." Sherlock said coolly. "The only difference is that Marius is old enough to remember what they look like. Hamish just gets a faraway look and cries quietly to himself." His tone was abrasive, though he didn't mean it to be. Greg tensed, how could he have forgotten? Sherlock must have had to deal with Hamish a lot on this, his tone was so full of hurt that no other conclusion was possible. John had never mentioned anything like this. Greg sighed, the two were likely thick as thieves, keeping their emotion from John so as not to worry him.

                                "So he remembers?" Greg asked quietly, turning to look at Sherlock.

                                "Hamish remembers they were there but he doesn't remember what they look like. It's hard; it's something you'll spend your whole life doing... But he'll be okay. With love he will. Just like Hamish is." Greg swallowed the ache in his chest down and nodded. He could do this. Sherlock and John did it every day. He and Mycroft could do this. Sherlock and John would help. He felt his resolve solidify.

***

                                "John?" Mycroft asked softly as he knocked softly on the bedroom door.  "Hamish would really like to decorate the tree for when his father comes home. But I wanted to check in with you before we began and see if you would like to come into the living room and watch?" John sat up slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. It actually wasn't as bad as it had been before he went to sleep but it was still rather painful.

                                "I would." He whispered, nodding slowly as he stood. Christ, just walking sent painful throbs throughout his entire head, but at least he could see straight. "Any word from Sherlock or Greg?" He asked as he walked toward the door.

                                "I had word from Donovan a few minutes ago that they caught the murderers. That's all she had time to tell me as she went to the scene. I expect they'll be home soon." Mycroft said softly, intentionally leaving out the news that Sherlock had been slightly injured. John could worry about that when Sherlock returned in one piece. The living room was dimmed except for the lights on the tree which Mycroft had already strung up. He grabbed a few of the pillows from the bed, calling Hamish over. Hamish took two of them and set them on the couch waiting patiently beside it for John to come lay down. "Lunch is available whenever you're hungry. Hamish has already eaten and is eager to have his Daddy resting by the 'pretty tree.'" He motioned to the couch.

                                "I'm really not hungry at the moment." John insisted weakly as he moved to sit on the couch. "Thank you, the both of you." He whispered as he lay on the couch, smiling when Hamish curled up next to him and gave him a tight hug. "Yes it is pretty. It's beautiful actually. Where did that garland come from?" He asked with confusion.

                                "Oh well... Your decorations were for a smaller tree. So I took the liberty of having some new ones brought over." Mycroft just barely tinged pink, but turned away quickly. He went to work, Hamish helping here or there and before long the tree was decorated just like it belonged in a magazine. "We'll let your Papa help you put the star on when he gets home." Mycroft told his nephew softly.

                                "Yea!" Hamish grinned, but he kept his voice low.

                                "Would you like a snack, Hamish?"

                                "Yes please."

                                "Alright, sit down with your Daddy." Mycroft moved into the kitchen and brought Hamish a small bowl of grapes.

                                "Thank you Uncle." Hamish said softly but his eyes were on John.

                                "How are you feeling John?" Mycroft asked, looking him over but not checking his temperature despite an inclination to do so.

                                "I'm okay." John forced out, nodding slowly. His eyes had closed again, simply because he felt exhausted. He couldn't fall asleep though. Not now. He was supposed to watch Hamish and Mycroft decorate the tree. Instead of lying down, he forced himself to sit up and he carefully placed Hamish in his lap. "I'm okay." He repeated, his eyes already closed again. Hamish smiled.

                                "The tree is so pretty. It's all blue." He hummed because Mycroft had finished putting the final touches on it. He tilted his head as he considered something. "But I thought our decorations were green..."

                                "They were, but that was for your old tree! These are for your new tree." Mycroft smiled at Hamish as he beamed.

                                "Yes, your Uncle did something really nice for us and brought us the pretty… Well everything." John let out a soft laugh which sent a pain through head. He bit his lip for a moment and stayed silent. "Go give your Uncle a big hug for buying all this." He whispered to Hamish smiling a bit as he watched the little boy run up to his Uncle.

                                "Thank you!" Hamish giggled as Mycroft easily hoisted him up.

                                "You can blame, Greg." Mycroft smirked. Meanwhile downstairs Sherlock was parking the car.

                                "I didn't know Hamish was so affected by losing his real parents. He acts so happy normally." Greg whispered as he carefully hummed a song to keep Marius asleep.

                                "That is because Hamish is only ever really sad with me." Sherlock confessed quietly. "He doesn't want John to worry..." Sherlock got out and left everything but a bag if clothes in the car for the moment. "Looks like the tree is up..." Sherlock shuddered slightly, his hidden grief trying to get free. The two men headed inside and began to mount the stairs.

                                "John you can go back to bed if you want. I'm sure Sherlock and Greg will be back soon." Mycroft smiled as he walked over to help settled John on the couch.

                                "No, I want to stay here. I feel like I'm not missing anything if I stay in here." He explained as he rubbed his temples. "Mycroft would it be too much trouble for you to make some tea? I'm hoping it will help with the pain."

                                "Hamish," Mycroft smiled. Hamish went in the kitchen and carefully brought a cup of tea to John.

                                "We made it a little while ago... Papa!" Hamish said and ran to the top of the stairs just as soon as John took the cup. John took a quick sip of the hot tea before he moved to stand up. Sherlock was home and in one piece. He watched as Sherlock and Greg came up the stairs and his face tightened. Sherlock looked alright despite the grief and desolation clearly written all over his face. John could tell he was trying to bottle it up, trying to shove his emotion down so his brother and son couldn’t deduct it. John could see how he was trying to hide it as clear as day but he didn't mention it, instead he just walked forward and give him a weak kiss. "You okay?" He asked, not wanting to pressure him too much. He waited until Sherlock set down all the various bags in his hands before gently touching his chest.

                                "I'm okay." Sherlock said sort of hollowly, but he normalized slightly as John’s presence gave him something to focus on. "You should be in bed, go back to bed and rest now." He ordered, his brow furrowed. "I'm going to shower quickly to clean up. Hamish, my love, the tree looks beautiful." He forced a smile. Hamish giggled, but his look betrayed that he knew Sherlock was upset. Greg still held Marius close, lingering on the landing for a long moment. He was terribly nervous. He didn't know why, it wasn't like Mycroft would make him give up the boy... No, he'd never do something like that, but Greg feared that Mycroft wouldn't think adopting him was a good idea. He stepped into view, slowly revealing himself and Marius to everyone in the room. He smiled sheepishly at John's puzzled look. Hamish's eyes were huge as he walked closer to his Uncle, the hope on his little face at a potential new family member was startlingly clear. Greg looked up as Mycroft glanced over at him and his jaw tightened.

                                "This is Marius. His parents just passed away." He explained with a frown, his eyes meeting Mycroft's. Mycroft was watching the two of them intently, his expression unreadable. He could understand what had happened from the two men's faces. He was split between concern for his brother, who looked ready to come apart; and his husband who looked like a nervous child. He surveyed the little boy with interest.

                                "Marius? That's quite a name." He said softly, stepping forward to check on Greg.

                                "I'm fine," Greg assured Mycroft but it was obvious he was nervous. He couldn't read Mycroft's face. Hell, he usually couldn't but right now that fact made him all the more nervous. "His mother's dying wish was that I take care of him." He explained a bit sheepishly. Greg took a deep breath before he continued. "He probably doesn't have anyone else... And I really don't want to let him go... He watched his mother die, Mycroft."

                                "Do you need help?" John asked Sherlock carefully. He moved closer to Sherlock, gently moving his hand to his forearm. He could see something was wrong with Sherlock. Very wrong. "I need a shower anyway, can we take one together?" He whispered in his ear hopefully. John honestly felt leaving Sherlock alone was a bad idea right now, the look on his face was enough to confirm John’s suspicions that Sherlock was in a dangerous place. Sherlock was tense and his eyes flashed as he seemed to realize something. He fixed Greg with a stare that would incinerate, taking John by surprise. Mycroft looked mildly alarmed by that stare but focused on Greg.

                                "Greg..." He said quietly, his face a mixture of confusion and carefully contained emotion. "His family might come forward." He could see the eagerness in Greg's face. He wanted this. Mycroft however was utterly convinced he was not cut out to be a father.

                                "Yes love," Sherlock whispered back to John.  "In just a few minutes." He sat John down and walked over to his brother. "You did just fine with me, Mycroft." He said softly, but John could easily hear him. "He needs someone to help him right now. We... We weren't fast enough. He is still in danger and needs protection. And, there is no one better to protect him than you." Mycroft's cheeks tinged pink. His firm thin mouth softening slightly. He turned to survey Sherlock with confusion.

                                "You believe so?" He asked, his mask slipping just slightly.

                                "I know so, brother mine. Besides I may actually murder your husband." Sherlock turned his gaze back to Greg, his voice darkening quickly. Both John and Greg looked alarmed at the sudden shift in Sherlock’s energy. "Just when _exactly_ did you see fit to tell my husband about these murders in order to try to provoke me into taking these cases?!" His voice was soft but dark, his eyes narrowing angrily. "Do not lie. He has been extremely sensitive lately which can only mean something has been weighing on his mind. You told him and somewhat recently. Within the last two months. So he's been feeling selfish for wanting me home and berating himself for it. Why would you do such a thing?!" He didn't raise his voice or grab Greg but it was clear he wanted to throttle him.

                                "Sherlock, stop it." Mycroft urged. Watching as Greg tensed and tried to keep rocking Marius. Hamish meanwhile was standing at their feet just staring at Marius. He seemed to decide on something, nodding his head and walking off. He climbed the stairs, clamoring to his room and returning with his stuffed rabbit. He bumped Greg's leg with it until he got his attention and offered it to him. Greg was distracted. Christ he knew. _Of course he knew_. Greg was a fool for thinking he had gotten away with it. What should he tell him? The truth? Wouldn't it only anger him more? He sighed but then looked down to see Hamish holding up the stuffed rabbit. It shorted out Greg's focus on Sherlock.

                                "’Mish, that's so sweet of you. Are you sure you want him to have it?" He asked and the little boy nodded. He took it and nuzzled it near Marius hands, watching as he woke for moment. This time he didn't mention his mother but the frown on his face proved he was still thinking about her. He grabbed the rabbit and clutched it tightly, closing his eyes again and nuzzling his face into Greg's chest. Greg's heart broke all over again; it was painful to see Marius so upset. He looked back to Hamish, forcing a smile. "Thank you, I think he likes it." He whispered and then he looked back to Sherlock. Back into those quick silver eyes so full of guilt and anger. He bit his lip and decided the truth was th best option. "I told him three months ago. I needed help with the cases, Sherlock. You weren't willing to help me and honestly, when I told John about this case I didn't intend for it to weigh so heavy on him. All he was supposed to do was try to get you to take the case. At least that's what I hoped he would do. Apparently he never even told you about it."

                                "Gregory Lestrade you colossal idiot. You told him entire families were being murdered and you expected it not to weigh on him? You are his best friend! I should think you know him better than that!" Sherlock threw his hands up in exasperation. He couldn't strangle the Detective Inspector without upsetting his brother so he opted to walk away. "'Mish, do Papa a favor and stay here to help your Uncles with Marius. He lost his parents like you did." Sherlock said softly, kneeling down and giving Hamish a gentle kiss on the top of his head. "Daddy and I are going to take a shower."

                                "Yes sir!" Hamish said firmly giving him a little salute. Sherlock chuckled. Mycroft waited until Sherlock and John had retreated to the bathroom before turning back to Greg.

                                "Darling, are you sure we are prepared for this?" Mycroft asked softly, moving forward and gently running his fingers through the boy’s hair. He was handsome. Mycroft could see so much potential in the young boy's face. "I'm sorry your Mummy is gone, Marius..." He whispered quietly. "But you are safe now." Hamish was still lurking just below Mycroft’s knees, staring up shyly at Marius from behind his Uncle’s legs.

                                "I'm prepared to raise a child with you. It's not exactly new to me. I know how to take care of a child. I have two of them." He whispered and then he looked down at Marius. "I've never had a boy though. That will be new." He moved to sit on the couch, smiling when Hamish crawled up with him so he could see Marius better. "This may be your little cousin, Hamish. Do you think you can help him try not to be sad about his Mummy and Daddy being gone?" He asked curiously. "Your Uncle and I are going to help him too but he needs a kid his age to help him understand everything. Someone like you who knows what it’s like."

                                "I will. He is pretty. I’ve always wanted a co.. Co.. Cousin." Hamish grinned. Greg smiled and kissed Hamish cheek.

                                "You'll be a wonderful big cousin." He assured him before looking up to Mycroft. "Isn't he beautiful Myc?" He asked hopefully. "He'll need a lot of love and affection. Do you think we'll be able to give it to him?" Hamish scooted into Mycroft's lap, facing Greg and Marius. He gently pushed his hand through the sleeve of John's shirt and started rubbing Marius' head the way John did when he comforted him. But he started softly singing a song in French. Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and he blushed. His attention on Hamish for a moment. He watched how tender Hamish was with Marius, how easily he adapted to the new presence in his life.

                                "Yes... I do think we can." He whispered, meeting Greg's eyes. He knew that Hamish could only have learnt that song from Sherlock, and if Sherlock could love a child that much… If his once emotionless brother could teach a child to be this tender, well so could he.

\---

                                "You're angry." John said when Sherlock helped him stand and walked toward the bedroom. "Don't be. Greg only told me because I kept asking what case was so important." They were in the bathroom now and John was leaning against the wall as he watched Sherlock turn the water on. "I'm sorry I never told you. Maybe if I had told you that boy's parents would still be alive." Sherlock’s entire body was rigid and tight. His movements were angular and sharp, leaving John worried he might go off at any moment.

                                "I am angry. You didn't tell me because you were worried about me. He made you suffer. I could murder him." He snapped and pulled his shirt off forgetting he had a huge bandage over his shoulder.

                                "Oh my God, what happened to your arm?" John gasped a little too loudly because his head gave a painful throb; he winced and carefully walked closer, taking Sherlock's arm between his hands and inspecting it. "You were shot?" He asked, sounding shocked and disgusted with whoever shot him.

                                "Grazed." Sherlock corrected him, but sank down on the toilet seat to let John inspect the wound. He was trembling and it seemed like he might explode from all the sensation trapped in his body. Which he did, but instead of anger he did the most un-Holmes like thing imaginable. He doubled over and started to cry. His guilt finally too much for him to stand. Six children and their families... At _least_ six. All because of him. And now there was another child who lost his parents, John was still sick, Hamish still worried... He had failed. He failed each and every one of them. John was shocked when Sherlock started to sob, his face tightening as realization dawned on him. This was it, this was what been wrong - guilt. John should have seen it sooner, he should have seen all the usual signs that Sherlock’s emotion was building up inside of his body again. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, not saying a word because he had a terrible feeling that Sherlock didn't want to talk at the moment. That as much as Sherlock relied on John for help, John wasn’t sure he could help with this. He ignored his own pain and moved to sit on the floor, pulling his shaking husband into his lap and hugging him tightly.

                                "Sh," He whispered, rubbing his back gently. "It's okay, Sherlock." He promised in a quiet voice.

                                "It isn't okay." Sherlock said in a tiny voice. "Greg should have told me what the cases were. Children died because of me... That little boy watched his mother die... Because I..." _Failed_. He couldn't say the word, but it ate away at him. He was trying to stop these tears, they made him angry. He wasn't supposed to get attached like this... But he couldn't help the guilt. He should have caught the murderers after Hamish's parents had been killed. He felt like he was being punished for trying to be normal. His entire body shook with tears, guilt, and the sudden withdrawal of adrenaline. His mind and body forced to reconnect because the danger was long gone and he was back in his safe zone. He was broken and lost. He didn't know what to think or feel. John tried to lift his chin but he refused to meet John's eyes.

                                "They didn't die because of you," John whispered, now rocking his husband on the floor, kissing his cheek and shoulder every few seconds. "It's not your fault, Sherlock. You can't let everything rest on your shoulders like this, love. It's not healthy." John felt terrible, Sherlock was broken and sobbing and for once he himself wasn't in the proper state to help. He tried his best to ignore the throbbing in his head but he let out a wince after one particularly painful throb. "You were just doing what you thought was right, there is nothing wrong with that. Sometimes bad things just happen, they are no one's fault. You don't have to go through this suffering, darling. Really."

                                "They did!" Sherlock half shouted before thinking better of himself. "I'm sorry... You don't need this." He shut himself down, closing his eyes and trying to delete the entire thing. It wasn't working so he tried to shove it away and lock it up. He took a long shaking breath, keeping his eyes closed. "What is wrong with me?!" He growled.

                                "You've been bottling it up for too long." John said, hugging Sherlock tightly, not caring how badly his head hurt. "There is nothing wrong with you. You're upset; there is no shame in that. You watched that little boy's mother die today, did you really expect to remain unattached? You're not emotionless stone, Sherlock. If you're upset, please, be upset." He kissed the back of his neck a few times, his own eyes closed because his vision was a bit blurred again. "Don't feel like you have to hide how you feel from me just because I'm sick."

                                "I shouldn't..." Sherlock's voice cracked and he tugged at his hair hard. Hurting himself but not caring as he did. He was angry at himself. He hated this. He hated feeling so much. He banged his head on his knees and tugged at his hair harder, trying to make the feeling stop. "You haven't taken your medicine yet have you?" He was still shaking, clawing at his scalp.

                                "Love, love, please stop." John said, sounding panicked as he tried to grab Sherlock's hands and hold them still. "You're going to pull your hair out. Just stop, please." He whispered in his ear as he finally caught his hands and held them tightly. "Forget about me for one damn minute, Sherlock. You're upset. Don't push that aside just because of me. Please." He kissed his cheek a few times, trying everything in the world in hope of relaxing his husband. Sherlock's entire body shuddered hard, because now he had nothing to distract himself. His breath was ragged and the tears refused to stop.

                                "I was wrong, John... I failed..."

                                "No, no you didn't. You figured out what was going on as soon as you started the case." John insisted, his grip tightening on Sherlock's hands because he was trying to move them back to his hair. "Sh, stop. Breathe, Sherlock. Just breathe. Take deep breaths." He instructed. "That's good," He whispered once he heard Sherlock take a few breaths. Glad that at least when Sherlock was lost, he still let John guide him. "You did not fail. That boy is safe now in Greg and Mycroft's care. That's more than safe." 

                                "The others..." Sherlock was shaking like mad, hyperventilating really because he couldn't breathe. He couldn't handle this display of emotion. It was wrong, all wrong. He tried to take the deep breaths but they wouldn't come, only stupid tears. "I'm an idiot! The biggest of them all!" He hissed almost as if it was a curse. "Children, John... And you knew... You were suffering because you knew and I didn't see it..." He tugged at John's grip, desperate to pull at himself, to do anything that would stop the emotional pain by turning it into something else.

                                "No, stop it, Sherlock." John ordered and when Sherlock broke free of his grasp, he swore under his breath and in a rash decision he moved quickly pinning Sherlock to the bathroom floor, his hands above his head. "You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. I didn't want you to know that I knew. That's why you could never see it. I am not completely unable to hide things from you. That doesn't mean you failed. It just means I was keeping something from you and it was wrong. " He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's lips a few times, quick but firm kisses. "You're the most amazing, brilliant man I have ever met and I love you. Please don't let this weigh on you like this." He begged.  

                                "How can you say that?" He asked, but John's kisses stalled his mind a bit. "How am I supposed to just let it go that children died because I was being stubborn? That now I'll feel so guilty I'll never want to turn down any case which means you and Hamish will be alone all the time?!" He was panting, completely out of his element. He felt like he was going insane. "I'm going to lose everything..." The words cracked free of his heart and fell from his lips before he had time to stop them, he felt like a child. Completely vulnerable and open to John though he was struggling against it. Everything he'd known to be true about himself was violently upended and now he was left aching and raw. It hurt that the people that had harmed his son had hurt so many others. He'd never faced anything like this and he was completely lost as to how to handle it. His breath came in short shallow bursts and his entire body was still tight with pain. John brought his lips to Sherlock's again, making the kisses last a bit longer still trying to calm his mind.

                                "That is not why the children died. They died because evil people killed them. That is why. Not because of your stubbornness." He insisted before he kissed him harder. "You will not lose a damn thing. You'll always have me. You'll always have your brother and your son. No matter what happens, Sherlock. We will be here. You won't lose anything." He swore almost as an oath, before he loosened his grip on his hands to place them on the side of his face and kiss him properly. Sherlock kissed him back but tears were still falling and he remained unconvinced.

                                "You'll get tired of me not being home eventually. Then you'll take Hamish and I'll be alone." He pronounced. He felt like a bitter child. "We should be showering, you should be resting..." He said it snappishly, again trying to push away this sentimental ache in his chest. John didn't understand. He'd failed. He was wrong. And children had died because of it. Evil people or not he could have stopped them... But he didn't. John and Hamish deserved better. He turned his gaze away from John, flushing with shame.

                                "Sh. Don't say things like that." John begged, still kissing him despite the fact that Sherlock wasn't even attempting to kiss him back anymore. "Sherlock, I love you. I will love you no matter if you’re here or not. I will love you if you stay here for the rest of your life or if you never came home. You are my life. You're my world and I will never leave you." John kissed Sherlock as hard as he could, trying to show him just how serious he was. "Please understand, Love."  Sherlock let out a frustrated growl.

                                "You can't say that for certain. Hamish will hate me." He looked up, his eyes meeting John's - the child like openness completely visible on his face. "I'm sorry I failed..."  John grabbed his face, gazing into the face of this lost scared child that was his husband. On the one hand it was strangely terrifying to see him like this, on the other it endeared him all the more to John. More than John could put into words. Sherlock was so upset because of the children, because he felt as if he had let the children down. As if this was a reflection of his ability to be a good parent.

                                 "You didn't fail. But if you honestly can't understand that you didn't, I forgive you." He kissed his lips gently and pulled away to gaze into his eyes again. "Hamish loves you just as much as I do. You're his father. You're his best friend and his idol, he could never hate you." A huge shiver went through Sherlock before more _stupid_ tears leaked from his eyes. He sat up, burying his head against John's chest.

                                "Thank you..." He whispered, clinging to him. "I'm not sure we have any hot water left..." He motioned to the shower which had been on all along. "I'm sorry..."

\---

                                "Would you like to try to hold him?" Greg asked hopefully, his eyes on Mycroft. "I've been holding him for hours now, maybe he'd like to be held by someone else. Usually I'd be worried about him sleeping so much but I'm sure it's because of what he's been through." He smiled softly at Mycroft, "Cradle your arms and you can hold him while he sleeps." Mycroft tensed a bit and nodded. Hamish got down and went into the kitchen, getting himself a juice box from his clearly labeled drawer in the fridge. Mycroft gently took Marius from Greg, trying to do so as carefully as possible. "See? Isn't that hard now is it?" Greg asked with a soft smile. Marius had woken up a bit, mumbling about his Mummy again but he opened his eyes and looked up Mycroft as if surveying him. He curled up against Mycroft’s chest even more tightly than he had against Greg’s. When Hamish came back into the room with his juice Marius still had his eyes opened. He wasn't crying anymore, he just gazed up at Mycroft and then he looked around the room. He felt a bit comforted when he saw a little boy about his age crawl onto the couch. But he hid his face in Mycroft's shirt when Hamish tried to reach out and touch him. He whimpered and shook his head.

                                "Where m' Mummy 'n Da?" He said quietly.

                                "Hi..." Hamish said quietly, coming over to them again. He offered Marius his juice box. “Would you like some juice?” He offered quietly.

                                "Marius, my name is Mycroft." Mycroft said softly, shifting him so he could meet his eyes. He gently cradled him and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm afraid your Mum and Dad won't be coming back, little one. They were hurt very badly by some very bad people. They were protecting you, trying to keep you safe..."

                                "My Mummy and Daddy got hurted too..." Hamish said quietly, still offering the juice box. "But my Daddies ado.. Adopted me and helped me." Marius lip quivered and tears came to his eyes.

                                "Da too?" He asked sounding utterly heartbroken. He had thought that maybe his Daddy would come and get him soon. But now that wasn't even going to happen. He was alone. "I'm awone now. I want dem back. Pweas? Da bad men wanted to take me away; I go width dem if Mummy and Da come back." He looked at Hamish holding the juice box and instead of shoving away like he wanted to he remembered his manors. "No dank you." He cried, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes with the stuffed rabbit.

                                "I'm so sorry..." Mycroft said quietly, rocking the boy gently. His heart clenched.

                                "Your Mum and Da would want you okay." Hamish said quietly and he set the juice box down. Hamish's lip actually quivered a bit but he didn't cry, Mycroft watched as he affected the normal Holmes demeanor of shoving his emotion away to appear calm, which he must have learned from Sherlock. "You're not awone... We help." Mycroft sighed, Hamish resorting to babytalk meant he was very upset.

                                "You aren't alone at all." Mycroft carded his hands through Marius hair, trying to soothe him. Greg started rubbing his little arm carefully and he was thankful that the little boy didn't flinch away. He pulled Hamish into his lap because he could tell the little one was close to getting upset also.

                                "We want to help you and protect you." He kissed the top of his head and Marius flinched and hid his face in Mycroft chest as he let out a sob.

                                "Why did dey get hurt?" He asked in a sob, his voice devastated and hurt. He clutched Mycroft tightly, the rabbit falling onto the couch. Greg picked it up and let Hamish hold it.

                                "Marius, they were hurt by bad people because they were trying to protect you. Your Mummy asked my husband, that nice man there, to take care of you and we're going to. We'll make sure you're okay so you can still make your Mum and Dad proud." He sighed. "They're in a nice place watching over you. I know it hurts, but it'll be okay..." He rocked him gently. Hamish took the rabbit but he looked down, not wanting to cry. He bit his lip. He wanted his Dads. He toyed with the ears of the bunny.

                                "It's okay, 'Mish." Greg whispered in Hamish's ear when he noticed his eyes start to water a bit. Marius had noticed what Greg was saying and at first he thought he was talking to him, but then he peeked over to see that Hamish was upset. Why was he so upset? He hadn't lost his Mummy and Daddy. Marius furrowed his brow as he watched them. Oh, but he had. Marius remembered now, he’d said so. He frowned and squirmed out of Mycroft's arms muttering

                                "Down." He said firmly, pushing his way out of Mycroft’s arms and crawling across the couch to Hamish. He wrapped his arms around him, something his Mummy told him to do if he ever saw anyone upset. "I sorry, I didn't want you to cwy." Hamish blushed a bit and wrapped his arms around Marius.

                                "I don't want you to cwy eider. These men are nice. Dere my Uncles and if you wanted dey could be your new Daddies. Dey make the sad go away." He whispered, cuddling closer to Marius. "The bad men are stopped now, 'cause of your Mummy and Da. No oder little kids will get hurted." Mycroft watched almost in awe as the two boys hugged. It reminded him, rather painfully, of the way he'd had to comfort Sherlock when their grandparents passed when he was young. Hamish looked painfully shy but a little happy. "Do... Do you fink we could be friends?" Hamish asked Marius, blushing again. Greg covered his mouth with his hand, trying to keep back the soft cry that escaped his lips. This was adorable and beautiful. He had never seen two small children bond this way before, so quickly, and without judgement. Not even his own girls when their beloved cat died. They didn't grieve together; they all dealt with it alone. But these two little boys were holding on to each other and freely crying, Marius more than Hamish but it was clear a few tears had slipped out.

                                "Yeah." Marius said, nodding into Hamish shoulder. "I never had a fwend befow." Mairus said with a sniffle. He pulled out of Hamish's arms and gave him a weak smile. "If dey my new daddies are you my coswin?" He asked, sounding a bit hopeful about something for the first time since he’d come to Baker Street. Greg’s phone chimed softly.

                                "Mmhmm." Hamish said softly. "I would be. But I fink we would be like brothers, just wif different Daddies." Hamish smiled a bit, sniffling some. "Dey're very nice... It's okay to be sad."

                                "I've never..." Mycroft barely whispered to Greg. "Greg someone text you." Marius pouted and looked to the two men, clearly sizing them up.

                                "Dey seem niwce." He admitted quietly before looking back to Hamish. "But I miss my Mummy 'n Da." He said, the tears starting to come back. He rubbed his eyes, hating crying in front of all these people he didn't really know.  Greg wanted to console Marius but he couldn't ignore the text. He picked up the phone and read over the message.

 

_He has no living family, Marius. I looked into it, no cousins, no uncles, nothing. Does this mean you'll be adopting him then? Just like the John and Sherlock did? SD_

 

_Yes. My husband and I are going to adopt him. GL_

 

                                "It's okay. I miss mine too." Hamish said quietly, taking Marius' hand in his own. "But... Maybe dey will make it... Nicer?" He offered softly. "Are you hungwy or thiwsty?" Mycroft read the texts over Greg's shoulder and his mouth fixed into a wry smile.

                                "Well I suppose that's that, isn't it?" He asked Greg softly, gently nuzzling his ear very briefly.

                                "Yes, I supposed it is. We should ask him officially thought shouldn't we?" Greg asked as he tucked his phone away. He moved closer to Mycroft on the couch and carefully pulled Marius into lap after asking if he could. "My husband and I want to adopt you, that will make you our son. Do you think that maybe in time you would want us to be your new daddies?" Marius stared up at them for a moment and then he looked to Hamish who was nodding eagerly for him to say yes. Marius looked back to Mycroft and Greg.

                                "Can you make it bedder?" He asked hopefully, a bit of a blush on his cheeks.

                                "Of course, Marius. We'll make you feel better. You'll be happy with us. You'll be safe." Greg promised. Marius rubbed at the tears off his cheeks and nodded.

                                "Mummy wants me to stay with you, so I will." Mycroft gently wiped the tears away with his thumb, taking one of Marius' hands in his own.

                                "She wanted you to be safe and to grow up and be happy. You don't ever have to forget her, but you have to know she's not hurting anymore. She's safe and she's still with you in your heart." Hamish was fiddling with his rabbit, casting glances up at the bathroom door. His Dads had been gone a very long time.

                                "Da too?" He asked moving closer to the couple, but not quite up on the couch again yet.

                                "Yes, your father too. Both of them will stay in your heart forever. They'll never leave you." Greg assured him and he was shocked when the little one stumbled forward and hugged him tightly.

                                "Dank you for 'rescurooing me, Daddies." Greg smiled fondly.

                                "I think you mean rescuing, right?" He asked the child who nodded.

                                "Dats what I say." His voice muffled because it was buried in Greg's chest. Hamish smiled and drank his juice, toying with the ears of his rabbit. He looked upset but stayed distant from his Uncles, not giving them an option to try and make him face the emotion he was feeling. Mycroft kept running a hand through Marius' hair, not really sure what else to do.

                                "I love you too." Sherlock whispered, he was still raw and open. His face betraying every emotion that ran through him. He just let John do what he was going to, not fighting. He hated himself and how weak he was. How much he needed John to guide him through things like this. There was a tiny knock at the door.

                                "Daddies? Are you okay?" Hamish's voice was soft, full of concern.

                                "Shit," John muttered, realizing how long they had been gone. There was a tiny gasp behind the door.

                                "Your Daddy said a bad word," Marius giggled and then without hesitation they were both giggling. John felt himself smile a bit as he answered.

                                "We're fine, 'Mish. Papa is just really dirty. Give us a few more minutes okay?" He looked back to Sherlock and it was obvious he was in no state to leave the bathroom yet. "We'll get you cleaned up and then we'll go back out." He whispered as he started to wash the blood off his hands.

                                "Papa Myc' says you're bwooding, Uncle 'Lock. What's that mean?" Marius asked curiously from the door, he and Hamish were still standing in front of it holding hands.

                                "Oh..." Sherlock snapped his eyes forward, looking up at John. "That jerk..." But the effect was done; Sherlock seemed to come back into himself a bit more. He was still raw and aching but he seemed to be in the room again at least. He grabbed John's hand. "Thank you, I mean it." He pulled John into a soft, tender kiss. Hamish giggled.

                                "Papa does dat when he finks too much." Hamish added. "Daddy! We wanna build a fort!" Hamish said a bit loudly through the door. Mycroft chucked softly.

                                "Well, this will be a Christmas to remember for sure." Mycroft was texting away for a few minutes before slipping the phone back in his pocket. John kissed Sherlock back, glad his head wasn't hurting as much anymore. Apparently focusing on Sherlock made the pain go away, he would still need to have his medicine though.

                                "You don't have to thank me, I'm your husband. This is what I'm here for." John said with a smile before kissing him once more.

                                "I'm still going to thank you, that must have been rather terrifying." Sherlock said as John worked, looked somewhat ashamed of himself. "Greg and I are going to have to have a very serious discussion."

                                "Oh, leave him be for right now. He's happy with his new son." John insisted as he washed off Sherlock's chest and some blood spatter on his face. "It wasn't terrifying. I was preparing for the day when you just broke down and here it was. I'm just happy I could help you through it." 

                                "How we gonna build a fort?" Marius asked with confusion. "You needed logs and stuff." He pointed out and when he heard Greg laugh from the living room he turned his head to smile at him. "What?" He asked.

                                "You can use pillows and blankets, Love." Marius considered this for a moment, a very serious look on his face.

                                "Well, how is a fort maded out of 'ankets gonna protect ya?" Greg snorted out a laugh and looked at Mycroft with a grin.

                                "Sounds a bit like you, Darling."

                                "It's a fort for pretending." Hamish announced proudly.

                                "He has a logical point." Mycroft said to Greg, smirking and quirking an eyebrow.

                                "Well... If we're going to pretend we should do it with something stronga den piwoows." Marius said very seriously as he crawled onto Sherlock and John's bed with Hamish's help.

                                "Oh God, he's a tiny you." Greg said with a chuckle as he cuddled up next to his husband. His eyes fell on the tree and he grinned. "You bought everything for the tree, I told you to be good. I didn't think you'd be this good." He kissed his cheek, still adoring the way he flushed.

                                "Well if he's a tiny me then we're beginning off on the right foot." Mycroft teased, waving off Greg's appraisal. "Sherlock was saving you from getting hurt, Hamish deserves a good Christmas, and you tortured John for three months. I believe we owe them."

                                "That's not pretending. You use your mind to pretend." Hamish giggled and started jumping on the bed, which he knew he was absolutely not allowed to do. Marius began to giggle as he bounced on the bed, he was sitting down but Hamish was a little bit bigger than him so he was bouncing on the bed like popcorn.

                                "Earthquake!" He giggled loudly.

                                "I didn't intend to torture him." Greg whispered, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame. "I didn't know it would eat away at him like that."

                                "Of course it would, Greg. We need to figure out a way that Sherlock can have time with his family and still work on major cases like this. You rely on him for everything these days... It's like you don't trust yourself anymore." He couldn't stop a smirk as they came to the bedroom and saw the two boys giggling hysterically.

                                "He gets a pardon until after Christmas, but I'm going to throttle him if he ever does this again. I do know how to dispose of a body so no one can find it. He would do well to remember that." Sherlock said it a bit darkly, flinching slightly as John washed off his cheek, noting it was bruised. "And what do you mean preparing for the day I broke down?" John gave a sigh finally putting the flannel away. He grabbed a dry towel and began drying Sherlock off.

                                "You brood. All the time. You torture yourself in that head of yours. So I knew one day you'd have I break down. No one keep all those dark thoughts bottled up forever." He finished drying him off and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Hamish eventually fell, landing next to Marius giggling like crazy. Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand before getting up and pulling him along.

                                "Well I guess it’s good you were prepared. I need a new shirt that one is done for." Sherlock heard Hamish's giggle. "Oh... That's not good. That's his mischief giggle."

                                "How can I trust myself when there is a man like Sherlock Holmes walking around pointing out how wrong you are all the time?" Greg asked with a bit of a frown but he smiled a little more when he saw Hamish leading Marius toward Sherlock and John's closest. "What are you two up two?" Greg asked them with amusement.

                                "Dwess up," Marius replied simply. Greg looked to his husband and just giggled. When John and Sherlock came out of the bathroom, he wondered why Mycroft and Greg were standing outside the closet door.

                                "What are you two doing?" John asked curiously and Greg smiled.

                                "We're waiting for Marius and Hamish, they're playing dress up.

                                "Papa Myc!" Marius shouted, sounding utterly excited as he burst out of the closet with one of John's jumpers on. It was far too big on him and even drug on the floor but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft's leg and hugged him tightly. "I wook like Uncle Jawn." He giggled with delight. " 'Mish wooks like Uncle 'Lock!" 

                                "Oh no..." Mycroft whispered softly but smirked. He leaned down and scooped Marius up, hugging him. "Do you like that jumper?" He laughed.

                                "Hamish, were you jumping on the bed?" Sherlock asked firmly as Hamish tottered out of the closet with one of Sherlock's jackets over John's button down. Hamish looked down.

                                "Yes, Papa."

                                "And are you allowed to do that?"

                                "No Papa." He walked over and reached up, Sherlock scooped him a bit awkwardly but held him tightly.

                                "I understand you want to make Marius happy, but you still have to follow the rules." Sherlock scolded him gently.

                                "I'm sorry Papa." Hamish muttered.

                                "You are forgiven. Now I heard something about a fort?" He hugged Hamish very tightly. Hamish furrowed his brow a bit, he only hugged him so tightly when he had been on a bad case.

                                "Papa?" He asked quietly but Sherlock just shook his head.

                                "Mrs. Hudson made soup for John and I had Anthea bring takeaway earlier." Mycroft offered. Both of the Holmes held their sons firmly as the little boys gently flicked their too long sleeves at each other and giggled.

                                "Be careful boys," John said with a fond smile, as he walked over to the nightstand and swallowed down his pill without drinking any water. He coughed a bit and followed the others into the living room.

                                "How do we build a fort?" Marius asked Mycroft seriously.

                                "Uncle Sherlock will show you how." John assured his new nephew who smiled at Sherlock.

                                "Show me Uncle 'Lock." He pleaded as Mycroft set him on the ground. Greg followed John into the kitchen to help him with the soup.

                                "I can get it for you, John." Greg suggested softly, but John shook his head.

                                "No, it's fine. I've got it."  He mumbled and Greg frowned, it was about time he apologized.

                                 "Look what I did... It was wrong. I shouldn't have expected you to be able to handle it all so easily." John shook his head as he put the bowl of soup in the microwave,

                                "No, Greg. It's fine. You didn't want to tell me in the first place remember, but I kept asking and asking. It's my fault." Greg ran a hand through his hair and huffed out of frustration.

                                "John, it's really not. It's mine."

                                "You're going to build a fort in the living room?" Mycroft asked darkly.

                                "Oh come off it, Mycroft. We used to do it all the time." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Hamish was giggling and running circles under his legs. "'Mish stop it." Sherlock scolded and Hamish stopped but pouted. "Go get the blankets and the sheets from the closet." Hamish grabbed Marius' hand and pulled him along with him as they went to get them. Sherlock organized the chairs and was surprised when Mycroft helped him.

                                "You shouldn't be moving furniture with that arm, Sherlock." He scolded him.

                                "I suppose you're right. So is this Christmas now?" He tilted his head.

                                "I suppose so. The boys would be disappointed otherwise, I think. They're quite fond of each other already. Not what we pictured previously is it?" John grabbed his bowl from the microwave and shook his head again.

                                "Honestly, Greg. I'm not upset with you. It's Sherlock. You'll need to apologize to him, not me." John said simply as he stepped into the living room, his eyes went wide once he saw Mycroft helping with the fort.

                                "Papa Myc!" Marius giggled with glee as he brought three pillows that were bigger than him from the closet. "We gotted dem." He said and he shrieked with delight when Mycroft swept him up and took the pillows from him. "I wanna help." Marius said with a bright smile as he watched Sherlock take the blankets from Hamish.

                                "You know how to build a fort, darling?" Greg asked, not being able to hide the surprise in his tone.

                                "We Holmes men are full of surprises, Greg." Mycroft looked at him and winked. Sherlock made a mock gagging noise.

                                "Alright let me have those blankets!" Sherlock carefully instructed Hamish and Marius how to string up the blankets, with occasional input from Mycroft. Before long the four of them had erected the largest blanket fort the living room of Baker Street had ever seen, which was definitely a feat.

                                "Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson called coming up the stairs.

                                "Ah, it's for me actually." Mycroft swept out of the room and met Anthea at the door. He came back with two large duffel bags that he tucked into the corner over the top of Hamish's presents. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he deduced what had happened and he burst into a wide smile.

                                "Ah, apparently Christmas is at Baker Street this year. You're quite lucky John convinced me to change out the couch for a sleeper." Sherlock crossed his arms.

                                "Papa!" Hamish said firmly, pulling on his shirt.

                                "Yes my love?" Sherlock knelt down so he was at the boys' level.

                                "I love you. Thank you for getting the bad guys. I know it was hard..." Sherlock swallowed hard and pulled Hamish into a tight hug, not speaking. John had been sitting off to one side, in his chair trying to eat his soup before he lost his appetite, but once he saw that, he put the food away and moved toward his boys. Hugging them tightly. He was the luckiest man in the world to have the two of them. Marius stared at the Christmas tree for a moment, almost seeming lost in deep thought. It was an odd look to see on a two year old and it concerned Greg. He crouched down next to him and wrapped his arms around him.

                                 "Are you okay sweetie?" He asked carefully. Marius nodded slowly, but his lip was quivering again.

                                "M-Mummy was 'sposed to get our tree 'marrow." Mycroft leaned down and whispered something to Hamish that Sherlock and John couldn't hear. Hamish walked over and picked up the star from the couch and brought it to Marius.

                                "Your Mummy and Da are angels now." He said softly, telling Marius what John had told him when he'd first asked about his biological parents. "They're your angels and they will protect you from all the bad things. They will come and give you kisses goodnight and stay with you always... So Mar... Do ya wanna put the star on the tippy top of the tree so they can see it?" He offered it to Marius, blushing a bit. "So dat they can come and see you're otay with your new Daddies?" Sherlock was a bit displeased that Hamish was resorting to baby talk but he let it be for the moment. "Uncle Myc bought it for the tree... For our tree." Sherlock looked at his brother as if he'd lost his mind, utterly confused by the things that were happening. He'd not seen anything like this from his elder brother since their grandparents had passed. The two brother's locked eyes for a moment, an unspoken conversation passing easily between them before they returned their attention to the boys. "Uncle Greg can help you." Hamish said it encouragingly.

                As John watched his son comfort Marius tears came to his eyes. He had no idea Hamish could be such an amazing comfort to another child. If they had another child he would be the best older brother in the world. He was so caring and sweet. John, fearing some more tears were about to come out, wrapped an arm around Sherlock and hid his face in his shoulder. A few tears had fallen from Marius eyes, but he tried to be big boy and wipe them away on John's long jumper sleeve. After he was done, he took a shaking breath and nodded slowly as he took the star gently. He gave Hamish a careful hug.

                                "Thank You 'Mish."  He smiled and pulled away to look up  at Greg. "Help me, Daddy?" He asked nervously and Greg gave him a warm smile.

                                "Of course, Mar." He whispered, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he lifted him on top of his shoulders like he used to with his girls when they were little. Marius giggled and held on to the star tightly.

                                "How do I do it?" Marius asked, looking down curiously at Mycroft for help. Mycroft moved effortlessly over and took Marius' hands in his own, guiding him to slide the star on the top of the tree.

                                "There, it'll shine like a beacon for them to find." He whispered and kissed the top of the boys head as Greg pulled him into a hug.

                                "The world has gone mad..." Sherlock whispered softly, but held John close. 

                                "Daddy!!!" Hamish said giggling again. "We have to bake cookies for Santa! Tomorrow is Chwistmas Eve!" He moved to John and gave him his best impression of Sherlock's impatient look.

                                "Marius, I don't want you to ever think you can't talk about your Mum and Dad or be sad about them. Whatever you need to do, you just tell us and we'll make it happen if we can." Mycroft said quietly. John chuckled and lifted Hamish into his arms.

                                "Don't look at me like that, You're Papa looks at me that way often enough, I don't need it from you too." He kissed his cheek. "We'll bake cookies in the morning." He assured.Marius nodded slowly at Mycroft's words and he reached to be held by him. When he was in Mycroft's arms he hugged him tightly, but at the mention of Santa he looked up at his father's curiously.

                                "Will Santa still fiwnd me?" He asked hopefully. Greg nodded quickly and ran a hand through Marius's hair.

                                "Of course, love. Santa can find you anywhere you are. You've been an amazing little boy and I'm sure you'll still get what you want."

                                "I wanted a kitty cat, but Mummy said I not big enough to take care of it."  Marius said with a pout.

                                "Well once we have you settled at home we'll see about getting you a cat." Mycroft smiled. "But we want to make sure you know your new house first." He looked over at his brother, watching as Sherlock moved. He was fussing about the fort, the doors, the windows, the fire, everything except the people in the room. He sighed softly but kept his attention on the boy in his arms. 

                                "Daddy," Hamish whispered in John's ear as he snuggled on his shoulder. "Is Papa okay? He hugged me real tight earlier and it hurt a little." Sherlock stalked out of the living room and into the kitchen, staying gone for a few minutes before passing back through the living room and into the bedroom. He was rather lost in some internal checklist he was going through, securing the flat. When he finally returned to the living room he immediately began checking John over.

                                "Are you alright? Is the light or noise too much?" His words moving as quickly as his thoughts. John stared at Sherlock curiously, shaking his head.

                                "No, I'm fine. How about you?" He asked, trying to make it sound like a simple question but it was obvious he was concerned.

                                "Can this be our house?" Marius asked hopefully. "I wanna live with 'Mish."  He squirmed out Mycroft's arms and ran over to John, reaching for Hamish who quickly got down out of John's arms. Marius wrapped his arms around Hamish. They both looked up at Greg expectantly.

                                "Oh no, I'll let you handle this one Greg."  John chuckled.

                                "Mar, we have our own house not too far away from here. You can come visit Hamish everyday and I'm sure he'll come visit us." He promised. Marius shook his head.

                                "I wanna stay width him." He said with a pout and hugged him a little tighter.

                                "Fine." Sherlock said in answer to John, lowly so only John heard him. He walked over and picked up the bow for his violin, fiddling with it as he settled down on the couch. 

                                "Marius," Mycroft said softly, kneeling down slightly. "Hamish comes to visit our house all the time and I'm sure your Uncles will let you come here. And maybe if your Uncles don't mind Hamish can come and stay with us for a few days so you don't have to sleep alone in your room." 

                                "Yea! You can come visit and Nanny will cook for us and Papa will play the violin and Daddy will play with us." Hamish held fast to Marius. John moved to sit on the couch next to Sherlock, he didn't want to leave his side. He was playing with the violin which was what he did if he felt he couldn't spin the ring on his finger. He rested a hand on Sherlock's knee, rubbing it gently as he plucked angrily at the strings.

                                "Can we just spend da night here? All of us?" Marius asked hopefully. "Daddies we can sleep in da fort!" He said, now so excited that he was jumping and clapping.  
                                "Oh, I don't know if Papa will sleep in the fort." Greg said looking over at Mycroft carefully.

                                "We are spending the night here, but your Dad and I will sleep on the sofa bed." Mycroft said smiling. "I have to go to work for a bit tomorrow but we'll stay here for a few days."

                                "Hamish can sleep in the fort with you if you'd like." Sherlock said softly, stopping playing but fiddling with the strings. 

                                "Brooding!" Hamish announced and almost flung himself in Sherlock's lap. He accidentally hit Sherlock's shoulder with his fist and Sherlock just barely bit back the curse he almost let out. He shook his head that he was fine to John and took a long slow breath before speaking.

                                "I'm not brooding Hamish. Really, what has gotten into you?" He looked down at him with a furrowed brow.

                                "I'm happy." Hamish pouted.

                                "You know better than to jump on someone like that, Hamish. I got hurt helping Marius and you hit me where I got hurt." 

                                "I'm sorry Papa..." Hamish looked down, he shuddered a bit with hidden tears but Sherlock pulled him into a hug and whispered something to him. He began to cry, but only for a moment.

                                "Sherlock, he didn't mean to." John whispered, as when he saw Hamish start to cry, he rubbed his back in soothing circles. "I know he needs to be more careful but he didn't mean to hurt you." He whispered to Sherlock, and it was obvious he was just a tad annoyed.Marius considered sleeping in the fort with Hamish for moment, and then he pouted. He moved into Mycroft's arms and hugged him tightly.

                                "C-Can I sleep width you on the sofa bed if I get scared?" He asked, meaning both of his new Daddies.

                                "Yes, of course you can." Greg whispered as he ran his fingers through the back of Marius's hair.

                                "He's not crying because he hit me or because of what I said." Sherlock said softly, rubbing Hamish's back and softly singing the same little song Hamish had sung to Marius a little while before. "It's alright Hamish, the bad men are gone now. No one else will be hurt... No other Mommies or Daddies." He whispered into his ear, Hamish clinging to his chest, his head on his unhurt shoulder and his face nuzzled against his neck.

                                "Of course you can." Mycroft assured him, though he wasn't sure why the child would want to. He suddenly understood the catch to his situation. Greg would want to give Marius a brother or sister to help. He gave his husband a knowing stare as he gently held Marius close. "We'll never be far away." Then it all clicked with John. Oh.  _Oh dear. He was crying because he missed his parents. His real parents._

"You're Mummy and Daddy are safe in heaven, just like Marius's parents. The bad men are gone. No one else will lose their parents again." He whispered to Hamish. Greg only smiled at that knowing stare, he loved children. He honestly did and it was clear this little one would need a little brother or sister to help him get along.

                                "Not right away, I promise." He whispered to Mycroft before he leaned down to kissed Marius's cheek. "You're going to have your own room at our house, it won't be far away from ours. Would color would you like the room to be?" He asked with a bright smile and the look on Mycroft's face said, 'We just had that room painted,' but Greg didn't care.

                                "Gold." Marius said and Greg was a little shocked by his choice because gold was basically yellow, however most children didn't call it gold. "Mummy liked gold and Da liked blue."

                                 "We could have it done up with blue paint and gold trim. We'll get gold colored sheets and curtains." Mycroft offered softly, turning just slightly to watch his brother and Hamish. Sherlock gave him a look: We're fine. 

                                "Daddy, may Marius and I have some cocoa?" Hamish asked with a sniffle, looking to John. Sherlock's face was tight with emotion however, because he was fighting a war inside of himself again. The war of guilt. He was studying Greg intently trying to suss out just how many families had suffered because of his inaction. Every feature of the man was under Sherlock's scrutiny.

                                "Dat sounds nice." Marius said as he snuggled into Mycroft's arms. "Can I have a pictuwer of my Mummy and Da? I haved one in my old room." Greg nodded quickly. "Of course you can. I'll have one of my police officers bring it over to our house tomorrow. Would you like your toys too?" Greg asked and he was utterly shocked when the little boy shook his head. "Why not?" He asked curiously. "Dey would 'mind me of Mummy and Da too much."   
                                "Sure, of course, love. I'll put a lot of marshmallows in it for you." John promised and kissed Hamish's cheek before he stood. 

                                "Marius, would you like marshmallows in your cocoa?" He asked carefully, the little boy shook his head against Mycroft's shoulder.

                                "Can I have pepmint in mine?" He asked nervously. "Mummy put pepmint in mine."  John nodded quickly.

                                "Sure, of course, I'm sure we have some peppermints lying around somewhere." He stood walking into the kitchen.

                                "I'll help you, John." Greg said and stood to follow the doctor. 

                                "There's food grade peppermint oil in the drawer to the left of the sink, John." Sherlock said softly, still holding Hamish tightly. Mycroft looked at his brother for a long moment. "Hamish do you want to go help you Daddy? You can show Marius how to make Cocoa?" Sherlock asked softly.

                                "Okay..." Hamish kissed Sherlock's cheek and walked over to take Marius' hand. "It's funny to watch Daddy cook. He burns stuff." Hamish giggled. When the boys skipped into the kitchen, Mycroft sat down next to his brother, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees and his hands in front of his chin. Sherlock curled his legs up on the couch in front of him and hugged his knees. 

                                "Brooding over the deaths is not going to serve you, brother." Mycroft's voice was stern but soft. "It's going to make you emotional and cloud your judgment."

                                "Why didn't you tell me there will children dying, Mycroft?"

                                "Because I knew the war you were stuck in." He turned his head to look at Sherlock, keeping his body in the same position. "You have chosen to give in to your attachment to John," Sherlock made a noise, "I'm not blaming you Sherlock. I think it was one of the best things you could have done - however you put yourself in a perilous place. Emotions are not easily dealt with and when you have someone like John waiting at home for you, it makes it harder for you to focus on the case at hand." 

                                "How do you two do it?" Sherlock asked gently, turning to face his brother more fully.

                                "Well it will be more difficult now, with a child." Mycroft sighed, he really didn't know how things were going to change. "We will make it work just as you and John have and will. But you have to let this go. Let those deaths be the reason you cherish every moment you can with Hamish and remind you of the reasons you have chosen this line of work." His voice was soft, not his normal snappish tone. It was a tone of comfort for his brother, his attempt to ease Sherlock's way.

                                "You make me sound noble when you say it like that, brother mine." Sherlock whispered.

                                "Perhaps I am saying you are." Mycroft tilted his head slightly, raising his eyebrows. A small smirk toying at the corners of both of their mouths.

                                "Thank you dear!" John called after he found the peppermint oil. "I'll just heat up some water in the microwave. It's quicker than starting the kettle." John said and he heard the boys snicker from where they sat at the table. They were precariously balanced on the seat of one chair, sharing it. As they were almost too big to sit in the same chair they were in danger of falling. "Don't you two start. I haven't burned anything yet." He told them and they only giggled more. Greg found the marshmallows and tossed them to John. John set it on the table as he fished out the cocoa mix.

                                "Uncle Jawn, can I have some?" Marius asked reaching for the bag.

                                "Marius, shouldn't you say please?" Greg asked curiously, not too firmly but trying to remind the boy of his manners. It was clear his mother had been teaching them to him.

                                "Oh, yes. May I peas have some, Uncle Jawn?" He asked again.John nodded and grabbed a small bowl, filling it and placing it in front of the boys.

                                "Now you two share that." He ordered, ruffling Marius's red hair and kissing the top of Hamish's head. John grabbed the hot cups of water out of the microwave and began mixing it with the peppermint, while Greg stood beside him, watching the boys try to catch marshmallows into their mouth. 

                                "Boys, you're making a mess." He pointed out and Marius frowned.

                                "Sorry Daddy." Hamish giggled as he tried to balance a marshmallow on his nose and failed. 

                                "Uncle Gweg?" Hamish said softly, looking up at him. "Thank you for getting the bad guys with Papa." Mycroft and Sherlock had lapsed into silence for awhile and it was Sherlock who broke it.

                                "I know you're worried." He said suddenly and Mycroft jerked his attention back to him. "Father always said that he would have gone farther in his career if he hadn't had children. You know Mummy would be proud of you. You don't have to be like him in everything." 

                                "Don't go sentimental on me now, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed.

                                "You're the one whose gone sentimental Mycroft. I was already woefully destined for sentiment when John Watson walked through my door." They two of them chuckled softly. 

                                "Yes, I suppose you were - weren't you?" He gave Sherlock a soft smile.

                                "You're welcome, Hamish." Greg said kindly, "I'm glad we could catch them for you and everyone else who lost their parents." 

                                "Dear, I suggest you start speaking normally again, your Papa can only handle you using improper grammar for so long." John said with a chuckle as he held both mugs of hot chocolate firmly in his hands. "Come on, you two can have it in the fort. Do you want to watch a Christmas movie?" He asked them as they all walked into the living room.

                                "Da Grinch!" Marius said eagerly, jumping up and down with excitement while he still held Hamish's hand. 

                                "Which Grinch? The old Cartoon?" Greg asked curiously and Marius shook his head.

                                "Da weal one!" He said happily, still jumping with excitement.

                                "Oh goodness, you're excited now, there's no telling how excited you're going to be when you have some chocolate." 

                Sherlock was sitting rigidly, his eyes closed as he sorted through information. Mycroft had one of the books down, flipping through it with mild interest. The two them were much closer than they would have been previously, indicating a shift in their dynamic. Sherlock would occasionally open his eyes and ask his brother a quiet question and receive an equally quiet answer before returning to his thoughts. If there were hit men, they were being ordered by someone. This ring of birth for money needed to be stopped before another family went through this. Sherlock's fingers twitched slightly as he worked. John and Greg stalled slightly, watching the two brothers and it took Hamish to bring them back into the room.  
                                "Here Daddy." Hamish offered up the DVD.

                                "Thank you, sweetie." John said, setting down the cocoa. He took it and quickly put it the DVD player. "There you two go, it will start in just a moment. Be careful, that's very hot." He warned them as they carefully climbed into the fort and he set the cocoa down firmly on the floor.

                                "Dank you, Uncle Jawn." Marius called right after Hamish thanked his father.Greg moved to sit on the arm of the couch next to his husband. He really wanted to sit in his lap but he doubted Mycroft would allow such a thing with Sherlock around to mock him for it. So he settled for wrapping an arm around his husbandand kissing his cheek.

                                "He's happy," Greg whispered once he heard the children giggling.

                                 "Make room," John ordered as he moved to sit next to Sherlock on the couch, wrapping his arms around him because he knew where his thoughts were at this moment. "Why don't you try to come back to us?" He whispered, giving a kiss to his cheek. "Stop thinking about that bloody case for a while and just enjoy this. It's Christmas Eve Eve," He giggled. "Our son is happy with his new cousin, my migraine doesn't seem as bad anymore, and fr once everything is going well... We need to discuss the puppy business with Mrs. Hudson soon though." He said thoughtfully.

                                "He does sound happy, doesn't he?" Mycroft said softly. He closed the book and took Greg's hand in his own.   
                                Sherlock didn't respond instead handing John his phone, he'd already text Mrs. Hudson about it earlier and she had replied that one dog would be okay. He then handed him the receipt from his pocket where he'd gone to an animal shelter and picked out a younger adult dog. He leaned forward, putting his hands under his chin, still very much in thought.   
                                "Cocoa is good with peppermint." Hamish said, giving praise to his cousin. "We are gonna be bestest friends." He promised. 

                                "Yea, da bestest." Marius said as he cuddled up next to his cousin.  
                                "Greg," Mycroft said softly. "I never got to answer you earlier about your girls or about your lack of self esteem. But I think the two are related. I believe it's more difficult for you to rely on yourself since the girls are distant. Sherlock's insults aside, you haven't been yourself for quite awhile..."

                                "Maybe, I haven't been." Greg said with a frown, he shook his head. "I'm...I used to talk to them all the time, now they don't even want to be around me." He held Mycroft's hand tighter, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, I know my behavior has sort of caused some problems." 

                                "I know it is because of me." Mycroft said softly, squeezing Greg's hand. "They don't approve of us. But, you should still try. I had Anthea send then some Christmas presents from us. Just in case."

                                "Thank you," Greg whispered, leaning down to kiss Mycroft's cheek. "That means a lot to me, I was so caught up with the case that I forgot to do it, I'll give them a call tomorrow and see if they answer." 

                                "I had a feeling that was the case." Mycroft smiled and he leaned into Greg just slightly. "If they do answer, I won't be offended if you don't mention me."

                                "No, I will. You're part of me. I will say you said Merry Christmas, your my husband now and I know they don't approve, but I don't care. I'm not ashamed of who we are."

                                "I love you, cousin." Hamish whispered softly. He was comfortable and content snuggled with him. His cocoa long gone and his eyes half closed.

                                "I luv...you too." Marius yawned and before he knew it, he had slipped off to sleep with their movie still playing. Hamish had a handful of John's jumper that Marius was wearing, their heads pressed together and the two of them curled up into a ball as he mumbled something and sank all the way to sleep. Sherlock huffed in annoyance but it was directed internally. He blinked slowly and seemed confused at the state of things.   
                                "What?" He mumbled, surprised to find John at his side.John chuckled and rested a hand on Sherlock's back.

                                "You here?" He asked, slowly stroking his back. "You finally come out of that dark palace of yours?" He asked hopefully as he gently pulled him back into his arms.  
                                "I... I was trying to finish the case." Sherlock said grumpily but he let John pull him a bit closer. He wasn't about to let too much sentiment show in front of Mycroft.  

                                "Yes, I know. Let the case go for now, alright? At least until Christmas is over." John pleaded. He understood that the case was important but it was Christmas and everyone was safe for the moment.

                                "I..." Sherlock looked at John, his face betraying the sort of mental anguish that statement brought on. Put off a case? He'd never done that before. He wrung his hands and resisted the urge to spin his ring. "I'll... Try." He said softly and smiled. "They're asleep."

                                "And before the Grinch gave back the presents, what a shame." John chuckled, but he looked at Sherlock with an honest smile. "Thank you, for trying. I know I'm asking a lot but his Christmas will be better if you don't brood." He teased. Greg looked back towards the fort, noticing the boys had gotten very quiet.

                                "Well that didn't last long," He said with a giggle.

                                "They were both exhausted." Sherlock said softly and stood up to put the glasses away. He gently draped a blanket over the two boys, kissing their foreheads before returning to the couch. "I'm not brooding. There is a very large difference between..."

                                "Sherlock..." Mycroft cautioned him as he was raising his voice. "Don't act like a teenager who didn't get his way." 

                                "Don't start, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped at him, glaring.

                                "Why don't you two go get some sleep? We can handle setting up the bed out here." He urged. "Sherlock and I can go finalize the Christmas purchasing tomorrow."

                                "Sounds, brilliant I'm quite tired as well. Let's go." John said eagerly, as he pulled on Sherlock's good arm. "Come on," He pleaded, when Sherlock stood perfectly still, staring at his brother. John hated to pull the sickness card but he feared the Holmes brothers would go on all night if he didn't do something to intervene. "Sherlock, my head is hurting again." He said with a whine as if it really did hurt, which it didn't of course but he wanted his husband to come to bed. 

                                "Sherlock, just go." Greg pleaded with a chuckle as moved to sit next to his husband.

                                "No it doesn't." Sherlock snapped and he stormed off to the bedroom, only stopping himself from slamming the door because of the boys. He undid his shirt, throwing it angrily on the floor before flopping himself in bed. Laying face down and scowling into the mattress.

                                "Jesus Christ," John muttered as he followed after Sherlock, he closed the door quietly behind him. "Your emotions are all over the place tonight." He muttered and it sounded as if that fact alone exhausted him. He pulled off his own shirt while he watched Sherlock carefully, "One moment you're upset, the next you're brooding, the next you're angry, and I just wish I knew how to keep up." He crawled into bed and watched him with concerned eyes. "Just tell me what I can do to help, Sherlock." 

                                "Oh for the last time, I am not brooding." He sighed impatiently. "I am trying to finish this stupid case so that perhaps everyone can go back to their normal lives for once." He ran a hand through his hair, and though he was trying to keep up the front of being grumpy, the edges of his eyes and mouth betrayed that he was really just fighting the same guilt and sorrow from earlier. "I didn't mean to upset you John. You don't have to keep up with me. You're ill and supposed to be resting." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I got Hamish the violin and a chemistry set. I also got an entire bag of clothes for Marius on the way home. Mycroft had Anthea buy Marius some presents and he also got Hamish a mountain of things, which looks like his entire Christmas list and then some. So promise me tomorrow you will rest so we can get this migraine over with." He begged angrily.

                                "I'll promise that as soon as you promise to stop lying to me." John sighed as he slowly climbed on top of his husband. Gently cupping his face. "I saw that look in your eyes. You still feel guilty." He brought his mouth to Sherlock and kissed him softly. "Sherlock, I wish you just understood that you are the only one who thinks it's your fault. No one is blaming you." Sherlock kissed him back but looked away, not meeting his eyes.

                                "Of course no one is blaming me. Because they don't see the truth. I could have stopped this three months after we got Hamish. Ten other children and their families were injured or killed because of me." He finally met John's eyes, the tension in him easy for his husband to read. "I feel like my head is going to explode."

                                "You need to stop thinking." John whispered, knowing how troubled Sherlock's mind was. "And how do we usually get that mind of yours to stop chattering?" He asked carefully before he kissed him very hard. "Like this..." He purred against his lips, kissing him even harder. "Don't you remember? There was a time where your mind would go blank when I did this to you. Does it still have the same effect?" Sherlock groaned because this time it did. It shot lightning straight through his brain, short circuiting it. His hands finding their way into John's hair and pulling him closer, his mouth almost violently claiming John's. His fingers digging into his scalp slightly.   
                                "Yes... It does. It only didn't earlier because I was upset..." John smiled against Sherlock's lips, he was still thankful that he had this power over his husband. His mind could get so carried away and sometimes he just needed to stop thinking.

                                 "Do you remember what you did to me at that restaurant this morning? In front of _all those_ people?" He asked before he took Sherlock's lip into his mouth and nibbled on it, before pulling away with a grin.    

                                "Yes I do." Sherlock grinned, unashamed of his behavior. "It was your own fault, letting her flirt with you." He moaned softly, pulling John back to kiss him again.

                                "I didn't let her flirt with me," John tried to argue in between kisses. "It just happened. I didn't even notice until you got that look in your eye." John couldn't help but moan into the next kiss because Sherlock was digging his nails into his hips.

                                "You didn't stop her." Sherlock smirked, watching John respond. "Or the girl eyeing you at the park... Or the one at the tree shop..." He pulled John into a furious kiss. "You're lucky I didn't use my nimble little toes to stroke you off at breakfast." He teased. John shivered.

                                "Oh dear Christ, I would have strangled you for it later." He growled as the kiss deepened. "I can't stop them from flirting with me, Sherlock." He panted, moving his lips to his lovers neck. "Have you ever seen me flirt back though? No. I only want you." He whispered, now kissing his ear. 

                                "It's hard... They're..." Sherlock groaned as John touched him. "I know I don't give you everything you need..." He arched into John. "God that is still so..." He was breathless and moaning as John worked.

                                "Good?" He offered, smiling smugly. "You still love when I touch you?" He whispered as his hands hands roamed Sherlock's body, while his lips kissed all over his neck. "I have the same reaction whenever you touch me, it was so hard to stay calm at breakfast." 

                                "Yes... Good.." Sherlock groaned, trying to make his brain function again. "Touch me more..." He pleaded, groaning and pushing into John's touch. "Of course I still love it when you touch me, I'd be a fool not to."

                                "More? I thought you were the one supposed to be touching me, tonight? I thought that's what you wanted earlier." He teased as he started to leave a love bite on Sherlock's neck. "But if you need me to touch you, I can do that too, very easily." He moved his lips lower, down Sherlock's chest and nibbling on his nipple while he smirked up at him.

                                "Christ!" Sherlock hissed, grunting. His breath heaving. "What do you want John? You are the one who has been neglected..." He clawed his hands in John's hair. John leaned into Sherlock touch, a soft moan escaping his lips.

                                "I want you to take me, Sherlock. Like the way you used to. I want you to take control of me." He pleaded as he moved his lips down Sherlock's stomach. "Please, I've been thinking about it all day." 

                                "Oh, is that so... Captain?" Sherlock purred in his ear, grabbing a fist full of his hair and flipping them. "You want to be punished because someone else looked at you. You naughty boy..." He attacked his neck, groaning as he did. John's mouth opened and he couldn't stop the moan that escaped it.

                                "Please, please, punish me." He panted, his heart racing as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "I deserve it. You need to remind me who I belong to," He begged, his back arching as Sherlock bit his neck. "Fuck, please." He whimpered. Sherlock pinned John's arms to the bed, continuing his assault on his neck. He used his legs to spread John's wide, grinding into him.   
                                "We should get you naked then, pet."

                                "Oh, please, Master." John breathed, wanting to move his arms to take off his bottoms but clearly Sherlock wasn't going to let him do it himself. "Let me undress for you, please?" He whimpered into his ear.

                                "Oh no..." Sherlock smirked and he maneuvered so his toes hooked the waist band and slowly slid them down. He followed them, licking a hot trail down John's chest.

                                "Oh, Master." John moaned, still keeping his arms above his head even though Sherlock wasn't holding them anymore. He wasn't allowed to move. He knew that. Sherlock would have given him permission if he could move. "Please, punish me." He begged. Sherlock nibbled over John's hips, lowering himself until John's pants hit the floor. 

                                "How should you be punished pet?" He grinned, biting a bit hard into his thigh. Definitely bruising it. "Shall I unceremoniously pound you into the bed or do you wish to savor your torment?"

                                "Savor, please, it's been a long time, I want to make it last." John winced when another bruised was made on his other thigh. "I want you to take your time with me, Master. Please. I want you to show you how much you've missed controlling me." John couldn't move his hands but Sherlock had never tried to pin his legs down, he grinned as he ran his foot up Sherlock's still clothed leg. "Please, Sherlock."

                                "Good..." Sherlock growled again, he let his mind cut out and just followed his desire. He licked his way down John's body, exploring every inch as he went until he slid off the bed. He stood up and slowly removed his pants and trousers. He was already hard and he groaned as he stroked himself a few times just to make John whimper. "Look at you, you're such a good pet..." He purred as he climbed back into the bed. He straddled John's chest, too far down for John to touch him and too far up for him to touch John's erection. He leaned down and grabbed two fistfuls of John's hair before kissing him. The kiss was first slow, chaste, and easy but then became hard and rough. 

                                "Sherlock," John moaned into his mouth. It was incredible the heat already surging through his body. "Please," he begged. He didn't even know what he was asking for at this point, he just knew he needed more than this. He tried to move his hands to touch Sherlock but once again they were pinned. "Fuck, Master, please." He whispered, not wanting to be too loud. Sherlock chuckled darkly, enjoying this probably more than he should. He leaned down.   
                                "Are you afraid of someone hearing you beg for me, pet?" He asked softly, nibbling on his ear. "Tell me what you want, pet. Beg for what you need. Maybe I will give it to you." John frowned groaned. He really didn't want anyone in the other room to hear him begging for his husband.  

                                "Please, I want to touch you," He whispered desperately. "Please, Master." He begged. "I want to feel you while you punish me." He pleaded, arching his back and whining just to tease Sherlock more. 

                                "Be specific." Sherlock growled. "You can whisper but I want the words John, I want you to tell me  _exactly_  what to do to you." He switched sides, nibbling on his chest just below his collarbone, leaving a lovebite. "Tell me...  _Now_." He bucked slightly on John's chest, grunting as he did. John whimpered at the bites, adoring the tiny bit of pain they brought.

                                "I want you spank me." He whispered, his face turning red with embarrassment. "I want you to punish me properly, Master. Then I want you to pound me into the mattress." 

                                "Oh... You're going to have trouble being quiet then..." Sherlock grinned. "On your stomach, now." He growled and retreated quickly. He dug around in the closet for something. He returned with a length of silky cloth. "Shall we muffle you before I deliver your punishment?" He was trying to think of what might muffle the noise of his smacks, when his attention fell on the CD player in their room. He smirked and turned it on, the light sounds of classical music drifting through the room. John was laying on his stomach and he chuckled when the music was turned on.

                                "I promise I'll try to keep quiet anyway, Master." He said as he crossed his arms in front of him and rested his head on them. "Please, Master. I deserve to be punished." Sherlock smirked, he smack John very hard the first time, not bothering to muffle the sound just because he knew Mycroft and Greg were in the living room. He giggled softly, soothing over John's bare bottom. 

                                "I'm not going to be able to punish you as much as I want. We have company." He whispered, wrapping the cloth around his hand. When he brought his hand down again the sound was muffled, so it barely was audible - though the smack was just as hard. "I'm going to spank you until you beg for my cock." 

                                "You'll be spanking for a while then," John said with a wide grin and it earned him another smack which caused him to wince and then let out a soft giggle. "Test me, Master. I bet I can last longer than you think." John said with a smug smile at Sherlock. Sherlock fell silent and he brought his hand down on John rapidly, a flurry of movement. He varied the speed but never the intensity watching as John's ass turned bright red. 

                                "Oh I will test you and you will give in." He grabbed a handful of John's hair, holding him firmly so his back curved. He pinning John's ankles with his own as he brought another flurry of spanks across his ass. John was gripping the sheets tightly, gritting his teeth in hopes of keeping the moan he wanted to let out, in. He was in the mood to prove out strong he was. He wanted to be tested and he knew if he kept spitting off more cocky comments, Sherlock would give him exactly what he wanted. 

                                "I bet you'll give in before I do. You'll get so desperate you'll start begging to fuck me." John said with a wicked grin at his husband which earned him more rapid smacks and he only closed his mouth tightly and shut his eyes. "You can do better than that," He said with a chuckle.

                                "Oh no... I have all the time in the world." Sherlock smiled and continued spanking him, he alternated between his thighs and his ass. He delivered a flurry at a time before pausing. Each pause was a different length. He smiled. "Look how hard you are. You're dripping on the bed, John." Another flurry. "Come on..." John was fighting every urge in body now. His head was resting on a pillow and he moaned into every now and then. He had his eyes shut tight and he was gripping the pillow tightly, fighting the urge to just reach down and stroke his cock.

                                "If you want me you'll have to break me." He said, his voice muffled into the pillow.  

                                "I will break you." He swatted harder, pinning John as he bucked against him. "You want it, your cock is aching." Sherlock let his nails gently glide over his cock before spanking him even harder, the sound just barely muffled. That was it, once John actually felt Sherlock's hand on his aching cock he moaned loudly into the pillow and his hips bucked into Sherlock's' hand.

                                "Okay, okay," he panted. His cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Please, I want your cock, Master, Please." 

                                "How?" Sherlock purred, rubbing his ass to soothe it. "Come on pet, tell me how..." He spanked him hard again. "Details or you get nothing." John whimpered at the next spank, it hurt but it felt deliciously good at the same time. He tried to reach for his cock but Sherlock pinned his arms the moment he noticed what he was trying to do.

                                "I want your cock inside me, Master. I want you to pound me into the bed because I've been bad." Sherlock tossed the cloth to the side, growling to keep John in place. He took the lube out of the drawer beside the bed and slicked it over his cock, moaning as he did. He grabbed John's hips and pushed inside him without warning, sitting still a moment as John reacted.   
                                "You bloody, idiot..." He growled as he started pounding into him. "Tormenting me..." He growled, slamming into him, forcing his face down toward the mattress. John let out strangled cry of pleasure as he was pushed into the mattress.

                                "I was just tormenting you because you did the same to me all day." John said breathlessly, crying out when Sherlock started to pound into him. "Fuck, Sherlock. You keep moving like that we won't last long." He panted. Sherlock grinned which he knew John couldn't see. He pounded him harder and just as he clenched, he stopped moving altogether.  
                                "Oh no. You are going to be punished. You will beg for release." He started again, repeating the same pattern. Then moving painfully slow.

                                "Christ, you enjoy torturing me." John said with a breathless giggle, he gripped the sheets tightly. "You haven't taken control of me like this in so long, Master." He moaned when Sherlock continued to hit that very sensitive spot over and over again at a terribly teasing pace. 

                                "I enjoy torturing you when you deserve it." He grunted and sped up, bringing John close to the edge again before completely stopping. He groaned as John clenched and whimpered before repeating the same process twice and then moving slowly again. "And you so deserve it."

                                "Fuck, Sherlock." John whimpered, he was utterly broken now. His was on the edge, he was shaking and sweating and if he could move he would try to rock back against Sherlock but he couldn't because he was pinned. "Please, I'm sorry just fuck me." He begged.

                                "Oh John, look at you." Sherlock groaned, he pulled out and turned John over, pressing back into him and leaning down so every inch of their bodies was touching. He kissed him fervently and slowly worked inside him. "You're mine." He whispered against his lips.

                                "I'm always yours. I'll always be yours." John panted, wrapping his arms around him and gazing into his eyes as Sherlock kept pumping his hips. "I love you." He whispered, not caring if it would ruin the dominant moment or not. He moaned into the next heated kiss, his nails digging into Sherlock's back. "I love you so much." He whimpered, his body still shaking because he was so close to the edge.

                                "I love you..." Sherlock replied softly, claiming John's lips again as his own body trembled and begged for release. "Oh, John..." He groaned softly, his voice thick with emotion and need as he shuddered and kissed John hard to keep from shouting as he orgasmed hard. His entire body trembling harder and his breath retreating from his chest. John felt his own body tighten and then explode as he released hard. His mind blanked for a long moment and he knew nothing of where he was. For all he knew he may have blacked out for a moment in pure bliss. When he came back down, he was gasping and clutching Sherlock tightly.

                                "Oh, Sherlock." He panted at least a dozen times before he released his grip and looked down at the mess all over them. "Shit," He said with a giggle. "Oh, that... That was brilliant." 

                                "Good Lord," Sherlock groaned and panted, resting exactly where he lay. His chest heaving for air. "You are naughty." He smiled, but he looked utterly exhausted. "I love you, John..."

                                "Being with you turned me naughty." John said with a giggle before he weakly pressed his lips to Sherlock's. "I love you too. Don't ever doubt that." He whispered, still completely breathless and shaking. "I love you, you're the most wonderful husband in the world." He rubbed their noses together softly.

                                "I do believe you were naughty long before me, John." Sherlock smiled but he rolled over beside him and let himself collapse. He was trembling hard. "I don't know about being the most wonderful husband in the world. However I am still glad you want me." He gripped the sheet hard, fighting his exhaustion. "I'm sorry I've been emotional today - I will do better in the future."

                                "Don't apologize, Sherlock. It's fine." John whispered as he grabbed the sheets and wrapped them over the both of them. He curled up next to Sherlock and kissed his chest once or twice. "If you want to apologize for something, apologize for how red and sore my ass is going to be." He chuckled.  

                                "I will not." He said as firmly as he could, already half asleep. "You brought that on yourself. Instead I shall wear a triumphant smirk all day tomorrow while you are reminded of it every time you move."

                                "It will hurt. Even when I sit down." John said with a yawn he was already close to being asleep. "You'll have to let me sit in your lap all day." He suggested and before he could hear Sherlock's mumbled reply, he slipped off to sleep, holding him tightly and already starting to snore. Sherlock dropped easily off to sleep exactly as he lay, his body desperate for the sweet pleasure of rest. One arm tightly wrapped around John.

                             


	4. Relieving Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the sounds of John helping Sherlock cope with his believed failure reach the two other adult Holmes in the living room Greg ends up tormenting Mycroft - only to discover Mycroft is not as innocent as he purports to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! This is more of a compliment to the last chapter than it's own stand alone but it is beautiful and should be shared! We have been considering going back and writing a version of Save Him (the first story in this series) that focuses on Mystrade but have not made a definite decision on it yet. If you'd be interested, let us know! ~Holly
> 
> Again just for reference Cay plays Greg, Holly plays Mycroft.
> 
> Also a few other notes - 
> 
> 1) We modified the layout of 221B. We did it in Save Him so this story is consistent with that modification but is not consistent with canon. We added an additional bathroom upstairs, so that both bedrooms have their own bathroom.
> 
> 2) Pet names - I know in S3 there was some clarification given around names for the Holmes men. Since we already had Mycroft calling Greg, Greg - we left it that way. We also decided that Greg has been given some special permission by Mycroft to get away with calling him Myc' - we just do what the characters tell us.

                                "What a child." Mycroft snorted and turned to look at Greg as the door closed on Sherlock and John. "Shall we pull out the bed? The boys will likely sleep through the night. They were both very tired and it has certainly been a long day."

                                "Alright," Greg agreed and they both stood and began to pull out the sofa bed. "I hope they left us some blankets in the closet." He said quietly. They set up the bed without too much difficulty, Mycroft watching as Greg walked over to the linen closet. Both of them a bit surprised to find that the linens waiting there were newer and in perfect condition. Mycroft would try to remember to thank John, since he was certain it was John who ensured there were items for any guests comfort. Greg was surprised when Mycroft greeted him with a kiss when he walked back into the living room proper. "I missed you too," He teased as he pulled away to place the blankets on the bed.  

                                "Greg, I know you have been worried about a lot of things lately, however I do not think you give yourself enough credit. You really are one of the best detectives at the Yard. You shouldn't let Sherlock's childish insults take away from the fact he honestly thinks very highly of you." Mycroft said softly, as he slipped out of his shoes.

                                "His insults don't bother me and I honestly don't know why he thinks highly of me. Especially when all I've ever done is go where he pointed me." Greg slipped off his shoes, his jacket, and finally his shirt. He smirked as Mycroft raised an eyebrow and made a motion that simply replied: 'it's warm in here.' "How does that make me great detective? I go where someone else asks and when I can't figure something out he's the first person I call... It's pathetic really." He mumbled as he climbed into the bed. 

                                "That's not really true though is it?" Mycroft smiled and went over to the corner retrieving one of the two duffel bags. "We do have clothes, Greg." He said using his tone to make Greg blush just slightly as he handed him pajamas. "You solved that case regarding the bank robberies last month all on your own and in record time, I might add. You are the only person at the Yard that he gives any credit to. He only spews insults because he doesn't know any other way to cope with the fact he finds you praise worthy. He is clever enough yet when it comes to people he can be an idiot." Greg slipped off his trousers and put on the pajama bottoms, letting the t-shirt fall to the floor. He smiled a bit when he looked up to catch Mycroft roll his eyes.

                                "Don't worry I'm not going to try anything with the children in the room." He whispered, a bit defensively. "And I sleep without my shirt most of the time. It has never bothered you before, so don't look so annoyed." He smirked before kissing his cheek once. "He doesn't find me praise worthy, Mycroft. He's just thankful because I was the only detective willing to listen him." He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "I use to be more confident than this, I'm sorry."

                                "I'm not concerned about your behavior or dress, Greg." Mycroft sighed and took off his jacket. "I am worried about the greatest Detective Inspector, my husband, who has been so shaken to his core. Why is that? Is it the case? Is it him? The girls? What has changed you so?" Greg sighed, curling up in the bed, pulling the covers over him while his mind began to throb with what might be an oncoming headache. The answer was all of it, though he was hesitant to mention that to Mycroft. He felt the weight of Mycroft's demand for an answer and heaved a sigh.

                                "All of it, Mycroft. It's all weighing heavy on me. I just want to relax and stop thinking about it, but I can't. If I try to stop thinking about the case, I think about the girls. If I try not to think about the girls, I think about Marius and how he's going to need constant love and affection. Or the case, or the Yard, or worrying about you, or John, or Sherlock, or Hamish... It's just stressful." He groaned, rubbing his temples. Mycroft changed easily and slid into the bed, gently putting his hand on Greg's back.

                                "The girls will come around, Greg. You have to give them time. They didn't know about us and the way they found out was sudden and unexpected. Marius will have everything he could ever possibly need between the four of us and Hamish, John, Sherlock and I are adults, and you, my darling, need a vacation. Which is why I was _trying_ to take you on holiday. Sherlock will close the case, the two of you will stop the trafficking ring, and everything will be fine. The two of you can't spend the next forty years berating yourselves over the lives lost. People die every day because of violent and evil people in the world. You two are only human, you can only do so much." He sighed, trying to comfort his husband and knowing that John was likely trying to do the same for his brother. "You two noble idiots." He said almost scoffing. Greg relaxed into Mycroft's touch, his eyes closing as he listened to every word he spoke carefully.

                                "I'm human but that doesn't mean I couldn't have done something more." Greg mumbled as he leaned into Mycroft's touch, surprised that Mycroft was holding him so gently. "I could have been working on this three years ago. I could have kept looking for a trail and I didn't. Once Sherlock told me he wouldn't be able to help me and the case went cold I just stopped and if I hadn't those families wouldn't be dead right now." His voice cracked slightly and he looked down.

                                "Oh you two..." Mycroft sighed darkly. "You have to stop this, Greg. You did what you could do. The trail went cold and you couldn't pick it back up until a year later. You've done everything you could with what you had. It isn't your fault that people died. You can't save everyone. You stopped them, no other children will suffer like Marius and Hamish have. Everything will be okay. You two will bring the ring down and things will go back to being a little more normal."

                                "That doesn't make it go away," Greg snapped angrily, his voice thick and tight as he turned to bury his face in Mycroft's shoulder, trying to muffle the sound so as not to wake the boys. "It doesn't matter that we caught them I can't get over the fact that there were people that died. Families, children... Some of them weren't even five years old, Myc'." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep himself from crying. He felt Mycroft tense slightly and tried to shut his emotion away. "I know I'm being foolish, I'm sorry."

                                "You aren't being foolish. Sentimental perhaps but that is part of who you are." Mycroft held him gently, letting his hands run soothingly over his back. "Every police officer loses victims no matter how hard they try. Let them make you stronger. Let it remind you of why Marius needs you. Needs us." He whispered, trying to be what Greg needed him to be in the moment.

                                "I know he needs us. And I swear I won't be like this all the time. I won't be a sopping mess. I just... I haven't let myself... Feel." The only thing that made it obvious that he _was_ crying was the way his body shook. There was no sound to betray him. "I've never lost so many people during one case. Especially so many children." 

                                "Greg, hush..." Mycroft's voice was soft, he furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure how to comfort Greg in a moment like this. "Take these lessons forward and make the best of it. That's all you can do. Honor those that fell. Make sure those responsible pay for it. You and Sherlock both will do that. He's just as upset as you are, I can promise you that. He feels like he failed you and made you suffer. He'll never admit it but he does." He gently rubbed Greg's back, holding him tightly. "It's okay..."

                                "He didn't fail me. He helped me when he could and I just paid him back by pushing him and John. Christ look what I did to John. Some friend I've been..." Greg bit his lip and pulled away, now feeling utterly ashamed of himself for turning into a whining sap. "I'm sorry. I'll try to stop." He whispered as he turned to his other side. His back to Mycroft. Mycroft tensed knowing that the reason Greg was bottling this up was because of him, because he didn't show his emotion. "I'm overreacting. I just... It hurts all of it." 

                                "You don't have to stop. Bottling it up will be worse." He sighed softly. "You did push John, but John could have told Sherlock  what you told him as well. He chose not to because he didn't want Sherlock to feel guilty for taking time to try and be with his family. I think you are taking this harder than you normally would because of the distance of the girls. But they are okay. Marius is okay. You are okay. And in time all of these wounds will heal."

                                "I know they're okay but they don't want to speak to me. They don't want to be around me. All because their mother has them thinking that our relationship is wrong and it's not. What's wrong is how often that woman cheated on me. That's what's wrong." He wrapped his arms around his pillow hugging it tightly because he wasn't sure what else he could do. He felt like if he tried to hug Mycroft, he would suffocate him. He never wanted to crowd Mycroft with his sentiment, knowing that he usually remained so very detached. Mycroft sighed, he'd never considered how deeply the extent of his own behavior had begun to affect his husband. He ran his hand over Greg's back, sighing softly.   
                                "It isn't your fault." He slipped down so they were lying side by side, his mouth next to Greg's ear. "All of this isn't your fault." He slipped his arms around his husband, letting his body soften as he pulled him close.

                                "I just want to stop feeling like it is." Greg whispered. "I just want it to stop. I want to stop thinking. I want to just sleep but you don't want to know what I see when I sleep lately, Mycroft." He shivered at the thought and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into his husband's touch. The softness Mycroft was giving him was too alluring to resist, it seemed unreal as if he was dreaming.

                                "What do you see?" He asked softly.

                                "It's just nightmares. Always nightmares." He replied with a shaking breath as he shut his eyes tight.

                                "Greg..." Mycroft sighed and rolled Greg to face him, letting him come to rest on his back. "Why haven't you talked to me about this?" He leaned over and he kissed him softly, trying to step out of his normally logically organized mind for a moment and let his heart speak for him. "I'm supposed to comfort you." He sounded a bit hurt by the fact that Greg felt he couldn't talk to him about his problems.

                                "Because I don't like talking about it." Greg hissed and for the first time he sounded angry. "I don't want to talk about the nightmares, Mycroft. You can't make them go away. They're here. They've been here since I found out how many children were dead. You don't like sentiment... So I just suffer through them. They ask me why I let them die and... I don't have an answer, Myc'. I can't... I can't handle it." He sobbed and finally he just gave up and just turned to wrap himself around Mycroft. "I... I can't... I'm sorry but I just can't..." 

                                "I can't help you if you hide from me. You know this is difficult for me but I am trying." He said it a bit too firmly but held Greg closer. Trying his best to keep his body soft as he held his husband tightly and ran soothing circles over his back. "They died because the killers were clever. Because the men who did it were evil. Not because of you." Greg heard the hurt in Mycroft's voice and he saw through the imagine Mycroft so carefully built for the public. He saw down to the heart of his husband and realized he had hurt his feelings.

                                "I'm sorry." Greg cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have told you but I didn't want you to worry."  Greg and Mycroft were so focused on each other they didn't hear the tiny footsteps approach the bed until they heard Marius speak up.

                                "What's wrong Daddy?" His little voice was terribly soft, right next to Greg's shoulder. Greg felt completely ashamed, their  grieving child was witnessing his new father turn into a sobbing mess.

                                "Nothing's wrong. Daddy's okay." Greg lied. "Are you okay, sweetie?" He asked gently, not moving his face from Mycroft's chest because he didn't want Marius to see he was crying.  

                                "I always worry." Mycroft said softly and he leaned over, helping Marius up into the bed. He hugged him close, helping him wedge his little body between the two adults as he did. "Your Daddy is just sad that so many people got hurt by the bad people that hurt your Mummy and Daddy." He whispered very softly, but Hamish was snoring away. He gently put a finger on Marius' cheek, smiling as Marius leaned into the touch. "You see, your Daddy has a very kind heart and when good people get hurt because of bad people he feels like he's done everything wrong. He's like a knight in shining armor and he tries very hard to protect the people in his kingdom, but today he didn't do as well as he hoped and he feels badly for all the children who got hurt like you."

                                "It's otay, Daddy." Marius said very sincerely as he hugged Greg tightly. "All of da kids who lost dair Mummies and Daddies will be otay. If dey were hurted dey won't be hurted anymore. And dair Mummies and Daddies will watch dem from heaben like 'Mish said." Marius moved his hand to Greg's hair like Greg had done with him earlier. "You rescrooed me Daddy. I could have got hurted. I don't wanna be hurted." He explained as he rubbed his nose against Greg's shoulder. Greg wrapped his arms around Marius and kissed the top of his head.

                                "You won't be. Ever again." Greg promised in a soft whisper. Marius nodded with a soft smile.

                                "'Cause you and Uncle 'Lock go afder the bad guys, dats what 'Mish told me... Dat you and Uncle 'Lock stop the bad people." He said with pride and Greg ran his fingers through his hair.

                                "I just feel bad for all the people who went to heaven because of me." Greg said quietly, watching as Marius turned his head looking at Greg curiously as if that didn't make any sense. Giving him another very Mycroft like look.

                                "Da bad guys hurt Mummy and Da, not you." He said very logically. "And Mummy always said heaben was a really niwce pace where no one felt pain anymore." Mycroft smiled, hugging both of them so that Marius was sort of sandwiched gently between them. He put two fingers on Greg's cheek in a very affectionate way. 

                                "He's right you know." He said simply, but his voice was soft. Softer than Greg had ever heard it. "You save people, the evil men and women of the world hurt them. You aren't all powerful, sometimes people will get hurt but you will always find the ones that hurt them." Greg stared into Mycroft's eyes for a long moment. He had never seen him so open and caring. He realized in that moment just how much Mycroft did care for him and was reminded of how amazing it was to have the heart of one of the Holmes men. Especially Mycroft. He watched as Mycroft nuzzled his nose into Marius' hair sweetly, murmuring something gentle to him. Greg almost melted from the sight.

                                "Thank you, Myc'." He whispered and Marius looked up at him expectantly. "Thank you too, Mar." He added, leaning down to nuzzle his nose. Marius smiled and closed his eyes.

                                "Don't worry, Daddy. You won't always be sad." Marius promised with a yawn.

                                "Why are you even awake, sweetie?" He asked and Marius opened his eyes.

                                "I's worried 'bout you." He explained with a frown. 

                                "Such a smart boy." Mycroft hummed his approval. He leaned down and kissed the top of Marius' head. "I know you will miss your parents but I am glad you came into our lives." He whispered to the boy. Marius grinned and put his tiny arms around Mycroft's neck, hugging him tightly. Greg smirked enjoying the slight blush that crept up Mycroft's cheeks.  
                                "Mar?" Hamish asked sleepily, waking up.  He stumbled out of the fort, rubbing his eyes as he looked at the bed. "Where you go?"   
                                "Why don't you go back to bed. I will make sure your Daddy stays happy and sleeps." He smiled, running his fingers through Marius' hair.

                                "Otay." Marius said nodding. "Night night, Papa." He kissed Mycroft's cheek. "Night night, Daddy. Sweet Dreams." Marius kissed Greg's cheek as well before he hoped off the bed. He walked over to Hamish and hugged him. "Sorry, Daddy was upset." He explained before letting go and crawling into the fort. Greg watched them go with a fond smile.

                                "It's otay. I just missed you." Hamish smiled and he cuddled back against Marius. 

                                "I missed you too. I just had to go take care of Daddy." Marius yawned before he closed his eyes and hugged Hamish tighter. "Is Santa coming night or marrow?" He asked curiously in a very tired voice. 

                                "He comes 'morrow." Hamish yawned, nuzzling his nose into Marius hair. "We'll makeded cookies for him in da mornin'."

                                "Otay. Wuv you, Mish." Marius said and he already began to drift off to sleep again. 

                                "Wuv you too." Hamish said sleepily.

                                "I love him so much," Greg whispered softly to Mycroft.

                                "I do too." Mycroft conceded and pulled Greg back to himself, holding him against his chest. "Everything will get better, love."

                                "I know, thank you, Myc'." Greg whispered, leaning up to press a few kisses to his neck. "I'll thank you properly later." He winked, teasing his lover.

                                "You don't have to thank me." He blushed a bit, leaning his head on Greg's. "Just get some rest." He tensed a bit as the low noise of the music drifted out into the living room. He shook his head just slightly. "I'm glad the television is still on." He whispered to Greg as he nuzzled his ear.

                                "Oh Lord, are they..."Greg didn't even have to finish his question because he heard a faint smack. "Oh good Lord," He chuckled, hiding his blushing face in Mycroft's shoulder. "Couldn't they have waited?" He said with a giggle. 

                                "Oh God..." Mycroft went rigid, blushing and attempting to look stern. Thankfully the sound did not come again. "I imagine they are employing John's traditional methods of getting my brother out of his head." His voice clearly gave away his displeasure. His mouth a thin set line. "Honestly they're like teenagers..."

                                "His method works," Greg said with a giggle. "Can't judge them if it works. I have half a mind to try his method on you when you get stuck in that head of _yours_." He kissed his cheek before closing his eyes and snuggling up next to him more.

                                "Oh no." Mycroft said firmly, but he blushed a bit more. "I am _nothing_ like my brother." He sat up a little straighter as if to emphasize the point but he was rather red, his face and actions betraying that he might not be telling the truth. "That wouldn't work on me. I have to sort through my thoughts first and I don't get trapped like he does." He said it firmly, biting his bottom lip.

                                "Oh is that so? Well, sometimes you do need to relax and I know exactly what I can do to help you do that." He said with a smirk because he had done it many times, he watched Mycroft closely, enjoying how he turned redder. "All those times when work has you stressed I help you... _Relieve_ yourself." He chuckled. Mycroft cleared his throat gently, Greg enjoying the blush warming his usually pale cheeks. He would never get over how easily sex could knock Mycroft out of his normally collected demeanor. 

                                "You help me but not like they're doing." He was very red now, clenching his fist. "I don't think punishment has ever... Crossed my mind." He said it softly and Greg knew he was lying, but decided to play along.

                                "Darling, I would never suggest that without us talking it over first." Greg whispered, kissing Mycroft's ear softly. Greg enjoyed the muffled moan that Mycroft let slip out, but resolved himself not to press the issue. Unlike Sherlock and John he didn't dare instigate something sexual with two small children so very close by. If they were upstairs perhaps, but here with the boys in the tent at the foot of the bed, definitely not. Yet he could not hide the fact he was enjoying Mycroft's reactions and wanting to experience more. "But if punishment ever _does_ cross your mind don't ever be afraid to tell me about it. I'm open to _anything_ you may have in mind." He promised sweetly, moving his lips to Mycroft's and kissing him gently. Mycroft kissed him back, swallowing rather hard. 

                                "I erm... I will." He forced out. "Is... Is that something you've thought about?" He blushed more, looking down at Greg.

                                "Of course," Greg said with a smirk, not afraid to admit it at all. "Darling, you go away on business trips so often. Of course my mind wanders while you're away." He adored the blush that spread over his cheeks and he moved his hand to one of them, stroking it with his thumb. "I think of a whole lot of dirty little things when you're not around to touch me." He purred as he leaned up to kiss him.  

                                "O-oh..." Mycroft let out a shaking breath, flushing even more. "Erm..." He looked away, gently toying with the sheets. He was not prepared for that. Nor was he prepared for the way his mind seemed to decide that the idea warranted further, _immediate,_ thought. "I suppose one of these days you will have to tell me what it is you thought about." He was definitely red now. "Oh you've turned me into an idiot." He growled softly, huffing a sigh.

                                "Aw, you're not an idiot. You're just adorable. Talking about this sort of thing always gets you so flustered." He kissed his cheeks a few more times, moving back to his lips once more. "I will tell you one day, just tell me if you ever get curious and I will." He stopped kissing him for a moment just to stare at his flushed face. "I love you and your adorable reactions when we talk about sex." He said with a soft giggle.

                                "You are just as bad as John." Mycroft snapped and sighed, his voice low and upset. "You know this is difficult for me and yet you enjoy tormenting me." He was positively pouting but without actually doing so. "I had no idea you had other fantasies. I have never heard you complain about our... Lovemaking." He said it rather sternly, but his was still very red.

                                "Complaining? Who said anything about complaining? I'm not complaining. I love when we sh- make love." He stopped himself from saying shag because he knew how much Mycroft detested the word and the hint of that eyebrow raising promised swift retribution. "But there wouldn't be anything wrong with exploring some other things would there?" He asked carefully, kissing his nose to try to get him to stop pouting. Mycroft definitely went redder, swallowing hard again. Greg realized that Mycroft's eyes were blown wide, his pulse was racing, and his breath was a bit shallow. Christ, he was aroused simply by the thought of Greg fantasizing about him. Greg almost moaned at the thought.  
                                "What other things?" He asked softly, his voice very low. Greg shivered because the sound of the unhinged arousal in Mycroft's voice was completely surprising and sent shockwave through his own body. "Why have you never mentioned you wished to explore more... Acts of a sexual nature?" He was struggling to keep his normal demeanor, but his mind was wandering. Greg frowned, noticing that his decision to keep his fantasies from Mycroft may have actually bothered him. He sighed and rolled his neck. Keeping up with a Holmes as a lover was really one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He stroked his arm in a soothing way, watching him carefully.

                                "I wasn't sure if you would ever want to explore anything else." He whispered, biting his bottom lip. "I don't want to pressure you into trying something with me that you don't want to try." His voice was soft as he explained himself, a small smirk toying at the edges of his lips as Mycroft reacted. 

                                "Well," Mycroft sighed softly, finally looking away from Greg. He tried to get his body under control, the mental image of Greg bound and eager for him rocketing through his brain. "We certainly can't find out if I don't know what you're thinking... I mean..." He licked his bottom lip nervously. "I have never explored enough to know." He confessed it rather quickly, almost all as one very soft word. Greg's lips turned up into a smirk, Mycroft _had_ thought about this.

                                "We can explore. We can explore anything you think up if you're curious." He promised, moving his lips to his ear and kissing it gently. "I bet you've thought of a few things you'd like to explore." He whispered, enjoying the shiver that ran through Mycroft's body. 

                                "I..." Mycroft bit his lip again, looking down at his hands. "Perhaps..." He finally forced out. He wasn't sure what to say or how to say it really. This wasn't an area he'd expected to have to discuss with Greg, which now that he truly thought about it seemed like such a stupid notion. Of course he would have to discuss this with Greg. His breath was a bit uneven and his cheeks still very red. "It sounds as if you have things in mind." He tried to change the conversation from what he might have possibly thought about, back to what Greg's fantasies were. Not wanting to disclose such vulnerable information.

                                "I do." Greg said with a chuckle, he had Mycroft on the edge now. "But I don't know if I should tell you right now. You're already so very flustered and I think if I get you anymore flustered we'll start doing things we shouldn't do with children nearby." He kissed his cheek softly, moving his hand to his chest and stroking it gently. "I can tell you if you like though, if you think you can control yourself." 

                                "I have perfect control over myself, thank you." Mycroft snapped softly, laying down as he did. He huffed a bit, rolling his eyes. "I do not believe there is anything you could tell me that would make me want to engage in... To have sex with children nearby." He said it as firmly as he could, but his blush was not fading.

                                "Okay then, we'll have nothing to worry about." Greg said with a snicker. He loved this, he knew he was torturing his husband but it was so much fun to watch. "Let me think... I think about this a lot but I'm going to try to think of my _favorite_ fantasies." Greg gave a hum as he thought for a moment, enjoying the eager look on Mycroft's face as he weighed out which one to share. "Well, I've always imagined having sex on your desk." He said with a smirk, enjoying the way Mycroft's eyes went a tad wider. So he had too.

 

_Don't think about sex while working, my ass._

 

                                 "Wouldn't it be fun if we pretended you were a professor and I was one of your students?" 

                                "Hmph." Mycroft more huffed air out than made a noise. "Desk, yes..." It was clear, though he tried to hide it that, that thought had in fact crossed his mind and more than once. "A student/teacher scenario? That implies you wish to be punished or have power over you abused." He deduced softly, watching Greg as he spoke. He tried to keep his voice even, the blush deepening on his cheeks. Greg's enjoyment doubled. Mycroft only resorted to deductions when he was impossibly flustered. "Is that what you want? Me to use my power over you?" It was Greg's turn to blush, his breath a tad uneven as he nodded slowly.

                                "Yes." He answered weakly. "You already have so much power over me. I just want to see what you would do if you felt comfortable enough to use it." He said breathlessly. "I told you one, you have to tell me one now." He ordered, his voice thick as he swallowed hard. The possibility of hearing a fantasy that the unflappable Mycroft Holmes had spent time dreaming up was almost making Greg drunk.

                                "Oh..." Mycroft blushed more and looked away. "I..." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I saw how you responded when we were in Paris and I was speaking French as me traveled. I had considered speaking only to you in another language while we were..." 

 

_Christ I am being an idiot teenager. I am a grown man!_

 

                                "While we were having sex." He said firmly, turning to meet Greg's eyes. Trying to recover from his flustered state. "Je pense que tu veux entendre que." He whispered boldly, smirking. Greg couldn't stop the soft moan that escaped his lips. Oh he loved that. He absolutely loved that. Mycroft speaking a foreign language was like having your ears wrapped in the softest silk. He remembered how amazing it had sounded listening to Mycroft hold full conversations with people in Paris. He covered his mouth with his hand to keep himself from making any more embarrassing sounds as he scooted closer. The look in Mycroft's eyes was almost enough to make fire pool in his groin.

                                "I would love that." He whispered against his lips, stealing a deep kiss. "When you whisper French in my ear I cannot control myself. Which was why you did it on our anniversary in Paris." He kissed Mycroft, a bit harder than before as he wrapped his arms around him tightly. Mycroft groaned very softly, gripping Greg's arms a bit tightly. 

                                "Greg," He whispered as a warning, reminding him that two small children were nearby. His breath moving thickly through his chest. "I didn't know you liked it  _that_ much." He smirked, clearly lying. "Wait until you hear my Italian." He ran his fingers through Greg's hair, glad the boys were asleep and they were alone in the living room otherwise. "You really do want me to punish you..." 

                                "Yes." Greg said, his cheeks red with embarrassment. He was breathless and very close to crossing a moral boundary if they did not stop this discussion soon. "Yes, I really do. I want you to give me orders in languages I don't understand and when I don't follow those orders I want you to punish me." He leaned closer again, desperate for one more heated kiss.   

                                "You're getting yourself worked up... I will save Italian for when we have a holiday alone." Mycroft teased, his voice actually full of arousal but also sternness. He felt Greg's hand slipping down towards his waist and he smirked. "Arrête ça." He commanded in French, pinning Greg's hands in his own. "Do you want to upset our son?" He purred softly in his ear. "Arrête ça." He repeated, but it was clear he was enjoying this. Greg smirked, he had no idea what Mycroft was saying but he was quite sure he was telling him to stop.

                                "No, I don't but I want to feel my husband. Can't I be allowed to do that, Monsieur?" He purred and that was the only French he knew. He smirked happy he at least knew that. "I just want to hold you closer, Monsieur." He said, faking his innocence by batting his eyes.

                                "No you don't. You want to touch my arousal." He growled softly. He smirked. He pushed up so he pinned Greg down on the bed, looming over him. "You wanted me to tell you so you could touch me. N'est pas?" He purred in Greg's ear, enjoying how his breath hitched. Greg felt his cheeks warm with a terrible blush and he stared up at Mycroft with lust filled eyes.

                                "I'll stop." He promised, his voice thick. "I promise. I don't know if I can control myself if we keep going." He looked toward the fort, swallowing hard. "I want to touch you, but not when they're so close." Mycroft grinned and kissed him hard.   
                                "Good boy." He purred. "Perhaps we should shower in the morning and prove to the other Holmes men that you like punishment _more_ than John does." Mycroft's eyes flashed possessively, as if suggesting there was some sort of competition between the brothers over whom had the more submissive husband. Greg pulled himself out from underneath Mycroft's pin, which surprisingly took a lot of strength and smiled at Mycroft. If he stayed put he would lose control.

                                "That could be fun." He wrapped his arms around Mycroft again, smiling softly at him. "I love you. Thank you for being so willing to explore this."

                                "If I was unwilling I would be a bad husband and lover." Mycroft smiled and kissed him. "It's your turn to share." He teased, settling in.

                                "You really want me to share again after how worked up you just got me? I'm trying to calm down love." Greg giggled but he pressed a very soft kiss to Mycroft's lips. "If you must know... I've imagined putting you in a pair of handcuffs." He said with a smirk before he kissed him again as gently as possible just to tease him. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow and his lips definitely formed a grin.   
                                "Is that so? Hm... So you want both. To be powerless and to sometimes be in control." He leaned his head to the side. "Perhaps I shall let you do that."

                                "I'll beg if I have to." Greg whispered, moving toward his ear and nibbling. "I can beg properly. On my knees, for you, if that's what it takes." He pulled away, a smirk on his lips. "But you may not want to hear me beg for you," He said with a dramatic sigh as he turned on his side, his back to Mycroft. "That could bore you," He said with another sigh but he was wearing a grin.

                                "Begging isn't really taking control though, is it?" He whispered in his ear, moving so he was spooning his shorter husband. "I have considered you begging for me..." His voice dropped and Greg shivered as the arousal in his tone rolled through his body. "Putting you against my desk," He whispered darkly in his ear, just barely audible. "Using my walking stick to cane you for misbehaving..." He said it as if they were discussing lunch, but a smirk was visible on his face and his voice was still low. "But I confess this idea of you putting  _me_  in handcuffs is intriguing." He purred and grinned wider as Greg let out a low groan.

                                "Or I can wear them. Whatever you want. I just want to do something different and will leave me with a bruise or two." He whispered almost desperately, turning his head to meet Mycroft's lips for another passionate kiss. "Is there anything else I should know about in that head of yours or should I wait and be surprised?"  Mycroft let his hands slip up into Greg's hair, tightening as he kept him close for a kiss.

                                "You want me to bruise you? If you wanted things to be different why have you never asked? I may not be as easily adaptable, but I would do anything for you."Greg smiled into the kiss, deepening the kiss for a moment and resting the urge to just climb on top of Mycroft and just take what he wanted. 

                                "Even bruise me?" Greg asked, sounding amused. "You would leave marks all over my body and claim me?" He asked curiously. "I never asked because I was worried you would be repulsed by the idea. I know you like what we do now, and so do I, but sometimes the things I want are a bit extreme compared to what we're used to.

                                "I would be happy to leave marks on you, claiming you as my own - I would just prefer to be a bit more prudent about it than my brother." Mycroft smirked and as if to emphasize his point his nipped Greg's shoulder with a smirk. "I can be unrestrained if the occasion calls for it. You need only tell me what you want. You know I will give it to you."

                                "Well," Greg said, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a breath. "I want you to stop right now. I already want you so badly and if we continue I don't think I'll ever get to sleep." He kissed Mycroft once more as softly as possible. "In the morning, we'll go use the shower upstairs and you can claim me." He ordered with a grin. "Promise?" Mycroft grinned and gently pressed a kiss to the spot he'd nipped.

                                "You don't really want me to stop, if you are to be honest my love." He purred in his ear, grinning. "But I will for the sake of the children. I hope you sleep well, you're going to need your energy." He promised, pulling him closer.

                                "I know, hopefully we'll be in the shower tomorrow until the hot water is gone." He said with a giggle before he tried his best to relax against his husband. He could relax. He needed to relax or he'd never get any rest. "I love you." He whispered, smiling when he felt Mycroft's lips on his cheek. He felt how firm Mycroft was against him, his skin electrified.

                                "Oh, we will be... Unless you plan to beg me to stop." Mycroft promised, closing his eyes but not sinking to sleep. He was rather enjoying the tension rippling under his lover's skin. He slid his fingertips over Greg's arm, enjoying how he bit back a soft moan. "Just relax, I'm not going to do anything to you." 

                                "I know you won't," Greg said with a laugh. "I'm just... Excited." He confessed, his cheeks flushing red. "I need to sleep." He mumbled, as if saying it out loud would allow him to ignore the fire coursing through his body. Mycroft was silent, continuing his machinations on Greg's arm, but Greg could feel the weight of the silence. Mycroft was waiting for something. "I need to sleep." He repeated with a giggle but then he had a wonderful idea. "Or... We can go shower now." He offered hopefully.

                                "I was wondering if you were going to suggest that." Mycroft whispered very softly in his ear. "I think if you want to have any chance of sleeping tonight you'll get our shower bag out of the duffel and lead the way up there. Otherwise I'm going to lie here and torment you... All... Night... Long." He promised, nipping at his shoulder to emphasize each word. He could and would do it... It unhinged him knowing that Greg had thought about such naughty things.

                                " _Jesus Christ_ ," Greg said breathlessly with a chuckle because he knew damn well that Mycroft wasn't joking. He pulled away quickly and got out of the bed. "Where's the bag?" He asked and when Mycroft pointed toward the kitchen he quickly but quietly fetched it. He wasn't surprised to see Mycroft waiting by the stairs, expectantly. "Let's hope we don't wake anyone." He whispered as they crept up the stairs into Hamish's room but quickly moving into the bathroom, "Lock the door." He added quickly.

                                "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Mycroft asked darkly, pushing the door shut and locking it before he pushed Greg back so the cool sink bit into his skin. "You wanted to beg, so I don't think _you_ should be telling _me_ what to do. N'est pas?" He asked with a smirk, his hand finding Greg's hair again and tilting his neck back. He lavished kisses over it before kissing down to his shoulder. "Turn the water on and get undressed,  _now_." Mycroft's voice was low, dark, and utterly commanding. Greg shivered violently, his heart pounding away under his ribs. He'd had no idea it would be like this. He'd imagined what a dominant Mycroft would be like, one who truly took his task seriously, but never had he imagined it would be so _easy_ for Mycroft to slip into the roll. He quickly flipped the water on and began to pull off his pants and trousers, freezing when he saw the look on Mycroft's face. _Slow down_ , his eyes warned. Greg swallowed hard and slowly lowered them to the floor and looked up at Mycroft's eyes.

                                "Now what, Monsieur?" He asked, feeling embarrassed by how hard he already was. 

                                "Non, je n'est pas ton Monsier. Je suis ton Dominateur." Mycroft's face betrayed how much he was enjoying this already. His eyes scanning Greg's body. "Are you enjoying yourself, my pet?" He whispered, stepping closer to him. His eyes were dark with arousal and his voice was very low. "Undress me. Only undress me. Do not linger too long, do not touch more skin than is necessary, and do not touch my erection." His commands were  _very_  specific and promised deep retribution if broken. Greg had never imagined it like this, he never imagined feeling so hot, and he never in his wildest dreams imagined Mycroft sounding so bloody sexy. He nodded at his orders.

                                "Yes, Master." He whispered before he quickly removed Mycroft's shirt. He let his hands linger on his chest just for a moment before he undid the string on his pajama bottoms and pulled them down. He got on his knees to pull off his underwear, smirking when he saw how achingly hard his husband was. "Are pleased with me, Master?" He asked, looking up at Mycroft as he moved his hands to his thighs and touching them for just a moment while he gazed up at him.  Mycroft gripped Greg's hair hard and pulled him up, tossing him roughly in the shower and following him fluidly so he was instantly pinned between the wall and his body in the blink of an eye. He growled, pressing Greg's hips hard into the cold tile so his erection brushed against it.

                                "I said not to linger, pet." He growled darkly in his ear, using his hair to pull his head back and latching his teeth onto his neck. Lightly tracing a line from his shoulder to his ear. "I am pleased with you, save the fact you want to test my limits." He pulled off and slammed Greg around, so he was facing him. Mycroft was almost panting but he was relishing this, enjoying how Greg trembled every time he moved his body. "I take it you were unprepared for what you are receiving." He smiled before latching his mouth on the skin just below Greg's collarbone, nipping and biting - clearly making a mark. "Is this not what you want pet? To be utterly used?" Greg moaned, his body arching into Mycroft's touch. He felt dizzy with lust and he tried to remember how to breathe correctly.

                                "Yes, yes, please use me, Master." He begged and it was a little unnerving how natural it was for him to do. Maybe he had imagined begging for Mycroft more than he gave himself credit for. "Please, use me. Have your way with me. I won't complain." He whimpered as he weakly kissed Mycroft's shoulder. "Use me for pleasure. I want to please you, Master." Mycroft slammed him back into the wall again, growling as he did. His eyes flashed as he stepped back and kept Greg pinned at the shoulders.

                                "Did I give you permission to kiss me?" He growled waiting until Greg whimpered that he had not been giving permission. "On your knees, _now_." He muttered, pushing Greg down. "I want you to take that disobeying mouth of yours and wrap it around my cock." He was lost in the moment though it felt somewhat thrilling and yet wrong to be using such vulgar language, he let it go, because he was desperately lost in this game. He was enjoying how Greg had failed to imagine what he would be like as a dominant. What he would face if Mycroft gave in to the power that he enjoyed in all other aspects of his life. "Beg with your actions. Mouth only, no hands. If you disobey again the consequences will leave you weeping for contact." Greg had not expected that swift punishment. He guessed Mycroft would welcome kisses. He sighed softly as he realized he should have known better. When they had sex normally kissing was okay, sometimes it felt more tolerated than enjoyed, but this was different. This was so very different and exciting. He wanted to apologize, to say something, _anything_ to keep Mycroft in this game but he knew better now. His mouth was the problem, it was what was getting him in trouble. He nodded simply to show he understood his orders and took Mycroft into his mouth. He started to put his hands on his lover's thighs but stopped himself, latching them behind his back as he start to work feverishly on Mycroft's length. "Good, I see you're learning." Mycroft grinned, letting out low groans. "God you like this, I can tell." He slipped his hands in Greg's hair, guiding him gently. "You want more, show me..." They hadn't touched much lately, Greg's mind too distracted by all of the stresses in their lives and of course there had been that whole mess with the embassy... But he was so aroused, so utterly turned on by this man... "God yes, pet..." He growled. He sometimes forgot how easy it was for Greg to inspire these feelings in him. How utterly jealous he was when they'd separated and he heard about Greg going to the pub with John, living a normal life without him, when he was utterly devastated.

                                Greg didn't like it, he loved it. He loved being used. He loved being treated like this. It felt wrong and exhilarating and he wanted nothing more than to please his Master. It was much more than he was used to taking but he decided to take all of Mycroft's length into his mouth, choking a bit. Mycroft arched a bit and groaned deeply. A noise that when Greg heard that gorgeous man make he couldn't stop himself from humming around his cock and moving one of his hands to his own cock. He started stroking it slowly. He needed contact. He needed friction. He needed _something_. He didn't care about asking for permission because he was already aching and dripping with need. Mycroft yanked him up, leaning him against the wall of the shower so he was pressed face first against it and brought his palm against Greg's ass hard. He watched as it the tremors ran through Greg, smacking him again. 

                                "Oh you are a bad pet." Mycroft growled in his ear, pressing his body into Greg and pushing him harder into the wall with it. "I am going to have to get you a leash and a collar and train you properly." He used his ankles to keep Greg's legs pinned and kept one hand on the back of his neck, so he was pressed harshly into the wall as he leaned back some and stroked himself - moaning loudly. "I don't think you deserve release after being so very disobedient. What do you think pet? Should I just stroke myself until I cum all over your back?" He moaned again. "Devrais-je? Si tu ne peut pas comporter, je pense que me faire plaisir." Greg was almost overwhelmed by how Mycroft was treating him. In the theater of his mind this had all gone so differently, but in his mind he had actually obeyed every single one of Mycroft's orders... Though in his mind they had been very simple orders, which he should have known would not be the case with Mycroft. Mycroft was at ease with control, he was used to giving very specific orders and commands... He was used to being in power. Greg whimpered when he was smacked again. It stung but it sent a twitch to his cock that made him moan deeply. He could not see Mycroft but the noises he was making were like torture.

                                "Oh, please, Master. I'm sorry I'm so bad. I promise to be a better pet. Please let me release." He begged and he meant every word because he knew Mycroft was being utterly serious. "Please let me please you, Master. You can fuck my mouth. I won't make a sound. I promise." 

                                "On your knees." Mycroft commanded again, but kept his hands on Greg's shoulders. "Stroke yourself." He snapped, grunting as he pumped his own hand over his own cock. He groaned, he wanted more but Greg hadn't obeyed. "I want you to show me how well behaved you can be. I want you to sit there and stroke yourself without moaning. If you can do that for a minute I'll let you choose whether I  _fuck_  you or your mouth..." He panted, his hand tightening so his nails dug into Greg's shoulder as he moaned again. Greg gaped at him for a moment, this was torture. Amazing wonderful torture. He was determined to behave this time but knew he could not do it if he kept watching how Mycroft was stroking himself. He shut his eyes tight and bit his lip starting to pump his hand over his own cock. He could hear Mycroft moaning, his voice deep and almost growling, and it desperately made him want to just sit there and watch as Mycroft gave himself pleasure. He shook his head slightly, resigning himself to his task. If he watched Mycroft he would get carried away and he certainly would not be able to stop the sounds that were already trying to escape him. He wanted Mycroft inside him and he _was_ going to get it. Mycroft smirked, watching him.

 

_Oh that is beautiful isn't it?_

 

                He watched as Greg screwed his eyes tightly closed and worked hard over himself, taking in the desperation his movements betrayed. He wanted this, he was desperate for it. Mycroft stepped out of the shower, giving Greg a warning growl to keep him in place, as he found the lubricant in their bag. He set it on the shelf in the shower and took his position in front of Greg again, watching him with relish. 

                                "You want me inside you, don't you pet?" He purred. "Answer me." Greg opened his eyes and nodded quickly.

                                "Yes, please!" He begged and he was thankful that his words didn't come out as a moan. He bit his lip again to keep himself from moaning. "Please, Master, will you please give me your cock?" He begged, his hand still stroking his length very slowly because he was so close to bringing himself to orgasm.  _"_ Please _,_ please _, please,_  Master. I promise to be a good pet for you. For Christmas I'll get a collar and a leash so you can train me." He offered, hoping the bargaining would allow him to have Mycroft faster.

                                "Oh you are good..." Mycroft hummed in approval. "Come here." He purred and raised Greg off the floor, pushing him back into the wall and kissing him hard. He angled the shower head so it wasn't aiming on them and clicked open the lube. "You are incredibly bad at being submissive." He smiled, pressing hard nips around his collar bone, marking it like a collar. "I hope you will do better when you are dominating me." He pressed two fingers against Greg's ass, toying with the quivering opening before slipping them in. He propped one of Greg's legs up with his own, leaving the other leg desperately reaching for the tub as he gently pressed in. "I'm going to be completely unrestrained once you can take me. You will not last more than a few minutes, I promise it." 

                                "You were holding back until now?" Greg asked with a teasing smirk and he groaned as he felt Mycroft entering him so very slowly. "Fuck," He gasped, moving his hands to grip Mycroft's shoulders. "You are perfect at being my Master." He purred, wanting to thank him with a kiss but he knew better than to try it. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad submissive. I thought I'd be much better at it- ah, God!" He moaned as Mycroft curled his fingers and stroked across his prostate. "Mycroft!" He pleaded in a soft shout.

                                "What?" Mycroft growled darkly against his ear.

                                "Please fuck me, please!" Greg arched and groaned when he was forcibly shoved back into the wall. "Mycroft!" He shouted again once Mycroft shifted and pressed fully inside him. "Fuck, fuck, can I kiss you?" He asked. Mycroft claimed his lips with a hard, bruising kiss. He kept Greg pressed into the wall, his hands on Greg's hips, nails digging into his skin as he used Greg's weight to buck into him hard and fast. It was not patient, not loving, and definitely not kind. It was a punishing pace meant to claim him and bring him over the edge as quickly as possible, to prove dominance. 

                                "I have never  _fucked_  you, Gregory. I'm  _fucking_  you now." He growled darkly, claiming his mouth again as his hips rocked harder into Greg. He was moaning and growling as he worked, biting over Greg's lips before finding a spot on his chest where he bit hard and then suckled to ease the pain. Greg moaned loudly as Mycroft slammed into him. Soft, desperate sounds falling from his lips over and over, Mycroft's words and actions driving him utterly mad. " _Mine_." Mycroft growled darkly against his chest, pressing his tongue over the mark and watching Greg arched.

                                "Oh, I'm yours." Greg moaned as he looked down to see the bruise slowly forming. "Fuck, I'm yours. I'll always be yours." He panted and he wasn't sure he was making sense. The words just fell from his mouth while his brain tried to keep up with the face that Mycroft was slamming him harder and harder into the wall. "Christ, I'm close! I'm so close! Fuck me harder so I can scream your name as you claim me!" He pleaded, clawing harder into Mycroft's shoulders.

                                "Shut... The fuck... Up..." Mycroft growled darkly and roughly pushed their mouths together. He was slamming into Greg with all he had, moaning into his mouth as he worked. He shifted slightly, so the angle changed and he could hit that exact spot that would drive Greg utterly mindless and just kept pounding into him. He didn't let Greg's mouth free of his for more than a moment, trembling on the edge of a hard orgasm. "Give it to me... Fuck Greg, let go!" He commanded. Greg's vision went white are he shouted Mycroft's name and came so hard he thought his lungs collapsed. He wasn't sure what sent him so violently over the edge, he wanted to believe it was the pressure Mycroft was pounding over that delicious spot over and over again - but he was certain it was Mycroft's command that did it. His seed spilled all over their chest as he felt Mycroft pulse inside him and fill him. The water ran over them as Mycroft slumped forward, washing away the remnants of their mess.

                                "Oh, oh, Master, thank you." He whispered weakly, kissing his shoulder very gently. "Thank you."  Mycroft grunted and panted trying to catch his breath. He fell over against the wall, holding them up with shaking arms and gently pressing kisses over Greg's marks and kiss bruised lips.

                                "Good Lord, Greg..." He panted, gently raising two fingers to touch his cheek. "The things you do to me..." He was slowly catching his breath, enjoying the utterly wrecked look his husband returned to him.

                                "You love it." Greg said with a grin before he kissed his lips weakly. "You love what I do to you. You loved dominating me. You tried to pretend you weren't interested in it but you must have been thinking about this for awhile, considering how well you handled me." He purred. Greg slowly lifted himself off Mycroft's cock and almost collapsed once he was standing upright again. He clung to Mycroft to keep himself from falling. "Oh, you have been holding back on me." He panted into his chest, grinning more as he looked up at Mycroft and watched him react. "Who knew that inside the staunch British Government official I call a husband was this sex crazed maniac?" He raised an eyebrow. Mycroft couldn't help the blush that flushed up his cheeks, his breath heaving in his chest.

                                "You're going to tease me _now_?" He asked softly, looking a bit nervous. He focused on the moment, but his heart fluttered in his chest. "So... That was acceptable then?" He asked quietly, gently running a finger over one of the bite marks. "And yes, I have thought of it before... I just didn't want to hurt you. I don't know how to be gentle and controlling. They don't work together for me."

                                "I mean it in a very sweet way, love." Greg whispered into his ear, nibbling on it softly. He felt guilty again, he should not have teased Mycroft. He should have known it would strike that insecurity that he worked so carefully to keep hidden. "It was amazing, love. You did absolutely incredible. I do not mind if you are completely controlling or completely gentle. I love all sides of you." He whispered as a promise, his lips trailing a path down to his shoulder and kissing it gently. "I am sure you could be both gentle and controlling if you wanted. I can teach you. I think that is how I am. I know I am nowhere near as good at being dominant as you are." Mycroft chuckled softly.

                                "Yes well, no offense my love - but the governments of the world require a bit more firmness than the police of the Yard." He smiled and leaned their foreheads together. "We should probably finish showering so we can get some sleep. Then when we are home and Marius is settled we can see if _you_ can dominate me."                            

                                "Oh," Greg blushed, not entirely sure he had the nerve to even try anymore. Mycroft had dominated him so very perfectly. He was sure he could not compare to his skill. He nodded, swallowing hard and forcing himself to pull away and grab his shampoo. "You'll have to keep me awake long enough to finish this shower because I am already sore and exhausted. You were too thorough with me." He laughed.

                                "I believe you think I should apologize for that." Mycroft raised an eyebrow and smirked taking the shampoo and running it through Greg's hair, scrubbing him clean. "I won't though." He purred against his ear. "Because the look on your face as I drove you into this wall was too good to feel sorry for." His voice was low and dark. Greg groaned.

                                "I don't want you to apologize. I loved it." Greg, with his eyes closed searched for Mycroft's lips and found them. "I love you. I love what you do to me. All I ask is that you keep me awake." He said with a smile as he pulled away to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. He then handed Mycroft his shampoo. "Here you go, darling." He whispered as he handed it to him. "You wash your hair, I just," He stopped to yawn, "Want to stand here and hold you." He finished as he wrapped his arms around him.  

                                "You're going to fall asleep that way, come on..." Mycroft pinched him teasingly. "You can stay awake for another five minutes." He washed his hair and used the residual bubbles to wash their bodies. "Come on now, dry off." He ordered, handing him a towel.

                                "Ow," Greg whined when he was pinched. "That hurt," He said with a pout as he got out of the shower and dried off. He was so very tried, he couldn't remember the last time he slept properly, and now he was exhausted and eager to get to bed. "I'm sorry, love. I'm just so tired." He yawned and sat down on the edge of the tub to dry off his legs. He wasn't sure what happened but he drifted so his head was against the wall and half fell asleep. "Just...Just wake me when you're dressed." He said thickly.

                Mycroft tensed his mouth and hummed in displeasure. He dried himself off and pulled his pajama's back on, before forcing Greg up and drying him off. He was limp in his arms, already mostly asleep. Mycroft disliked physical labor but as his husband was seemingly unable to carry himself, Mycroft hoisted him up as best he could and managed to carry him down to the living room. He quickly scanned the bed to ensure no little ones had clamored into it while they were gone and set Greg down. He managed to get him under the covers and then moved to ensure the boys were both still sleeping. He kissed both of them on the forehead before ensuring that there were no wakeful noises coming from Sherlock's room and returning to bed. 221B Baker Street was eerily quiet and for the moment a sense of peace had settled between the six Holmes men inside it. Something that happened far too infrequently.

                                "Sleep well, my love." Mycroft whispered as he slipped into the bed and wrapped his arms around his husband. Greg mumbled, opening his eyes and surprised to realize he was back downstairs and comfortably snuggled into the bed.

                                "How in the..." He looked at Mycroft curiously, a small smile forming. "You're bloody amazing, Mycroft Holmes." He whispered sleepily before closing his eyes again. "I love you." He mumbled barely registering Mycroft's soft reply before he drifted to sleep.                             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only two more chapters to edit and get posted, prepare for lots of cuteness!


	5. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve and it's time for the Holmes brothers to teach their children the Holmes traditions. John and Greg just hope they can keep up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry for the delay! It's been crazy for me with life and this chapter was a BEAST. There's only one chapter and an epilogue (or two) left to post.
> 
> Cast for this chapter:  
> Mycroft/Sherlock/Hamish/Victor/Mrs. Hudson: Holly  
> Greg/John/Marius/Alex: Cay

                When Greg woke again it was because he felt someone crawling into the bed. It took him a long moment to realize what was going on and he could tell it was much later in the morning as the sun was up, though he felt like he'd just fallen asleep. Mycroft was still deeply asleep, though he had rolled away at some point during their few hours of sleep. Though the fact he was still sleeping was a miracle considering how lightly the 'Government' usually slept. Greg couldn't help but smile as he realized that Mycroft was finally growing more comfortable in himself, his relationship with his brother, and with Greg. He sighed however when he realized both the boys were climbing into the bed and stifled a yawn before offering them a weak smile.

                                "Hey boys why don't you go wake John and Sherlock first okay? Me and Papa are really tired." He watched almost transfixed as Marius nodded with understanding and turned to Hamish.

                                "Go wake your daddies." Marius whispered the instructions to Hamish as he cuddled up next to Greg, who gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Daddy, Santa is coming tonight." Marius whispered excitedly.

                                "I know." Greg replied with a yawn as he closed his eyes and began to drift off again. "It's so exciting." He mumbled as he dropped off. Marius shifted slightly, cuddling against Mycroft which had the effect of pulling the man gently from his sleep. He smiled down at the boy, ruffling his hair before motioning for Marius to cuddle closer to his own body.   
                                "Your Daddy didn't sleep well last night. Let's let him rest." He whispered softly to the little boy, smiling as he protested.

                                "But Papa it's late." Marius said with a pout not understanding why Greg would be so tired, after all he and Hamish had gone to bed fairly early. "'Mish says it almost lunch time." He pouted and Mycroft couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him. It was nowhere near lunch time but these two adorable boys felt like ages had passed. "'Sides, me and 'Mish are hungy." He crossed his arms, still pouting. Mycroft could see that Marius was still tired and that it was making him a bit grumpy. Which supported Mycroft's suspicion that his nephew was like his father and had woken early, woken Marius, and Marius was too stubborn to go back to sleep.

                                "Well let's see if Hamish can wake either of his Dads." Mycroft negotiated and Marius nodded.

                Sherlock sat straight up in bed with a gasp as a soft knock rang through their room. He had a sour, unpleasant look on his face as he was utterly exhausted. The knock came again along with the frantic turning of the handle, which thankfully was still locked. Sherlock sighed.  
                                "John, put on your pajamas..." He grunted forcing them at his still sleeping husband. He got up and found his own, pulling them on. He managed to manipulate a sleepy, disgruntled John into his own before he opened the door and scooped Hamish into his arms. "Little man, if you aren't coming in here to crawl in bed with us and go back to sleep I may get grumpy." He said softly as Hamish giggled and snuggled excitedly into his chest.

                                "But Papa, I missed you!" Hamish exclaimed a bit loudly, pouting.

                                "Darling, it's really early." John yawned, moving back under the covers and curling up into a ball. "Me and Papa are really tired." Sherlock sat down next to him, watching as Hamish playfully poked the blanket until John reemerged. "I need to sleep more." He explained in a sort of whine as he wrapped an arm around Hamish and kissed the top of his head. "Oh," John said suddenly, opening his eyes as he realized what day it was, "Merry Christmas." He said with a soft smile before he closed his eyes again.

                                "Christmas Eve." Hamish pouted. "I'm hungry. So is Mar." He crossed his arms in a very John-like fashion and Sherlock chuckled softly.  
                                "Come on." Sherlock said softly and scooped Hamish out of bed. "I will make you breakfast. Let's let Daddy sleep more." In the living room Mycroft said almost the exact same thing to Marius as he stood and scooped Marius out of the bed.  Sherlock kissed John gently and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him so the weary doctor could continue his rest. Mycroft smiled as he saw him and the two convened on the kitchen, settling the boys on the counter so they could watch.   
                                "What do you think Sherlock?" Mycroft smirked, smoothing out his t-shirt.  
                                "I think we are required to teach them Holmes family tradition." He grinned in response, raising an eyebrow.   
                                "Then let us begin."

                Mycroft and Sherlock dug through the pantry and the groceries Mycroft had delivered the day before to find what they needed. Both of them easily sinking into stride next to each other in a way that made the boys look on with wide eyes and happy gazes as the two men began making breakfast for everyone. They talked and laughed with the boys, teased each other, and generally forgot that they normally were ready to rip out the others throat as they seemingly turned back the clocks of their minds to some Christmas past. To some point when they were younger and still enjoyed being together on the holidays. They were so ingrained in their tasks that they didn't notice they had an audience as they worked, John and Greg standing just outside the kitchen in the living room watching with awe as the two brothers chuckled away and answered the million questions the little boys peppered at them. Greg and John enjoyed almost an hour of uninterrupted observing before Marius could no longer stand it.

  
                                "Daddy! Wook at Papa Myc'" He exclaimed, giggling hard as he leaned against Hamish on the counter.   
                                "Hee Papa, there is flour in your hair." Hamish giggled, clasping Marius' hand in his own.

                                "You look absolutely adorable." John told Sherlock with a wide grin as he walked into the kitchen and picked up a towel to dust the flour out of Sherlock's raven hair. Greg chuckled and finally joined the rest of the family in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Mycroft from behind.

                                "So do you." He purred into his ear, kissing it softly before he pulled away to lift Marius into his arms. Mycroft tinged just slightly pink but didn't respond, nor did Sherlock whose cheeks were also a bit pink.

                                "Pancakes!" Marius cheered happily. "Papa Myc is maked pancakes!"  John sat with Hamish on his lap at the kitchen table, Greg dropping down across from him with Marius as they watched Sherlock and Mycroft with fond eyes. Both of them carding their hands through the boys' hair. John sighed contentedly as he watched them.

                                "John what have I told you about the word adorable?" Sherlock growled softly, but it wasn't as firm as it had been before. John chuckled.

                                "Did you two used to make breakfast on Christmas Eve morning?" He asked curiously.

                                "Well," Mycroft actually blushed a bit as he'd forgotten what he'd been doing. "Yes. Mummy and Dad were often very busy around the holidays so until I went to University Sherlock and I would make breakfast on Christmas Eve. When we first began I think Sherlock was about seven..."

                                "The idea was to make enough there would be leftovers to warm up the next day... In case Mum and Dad didn't show up." Sherlock forced out in as even a tone as he could muster, though both John and Greg noted how the Holmes' brothers' faces tightened. Bad memories there, then. John went to reply when his pocked buzzed, making him jump and Hamish grumble. He pulled out his phone and read the message.

 

 _Happy Christmas Eve! Alex and I are on the way to visit you now, hope you're all clothed and decent. Or at least partially clothed and very indecent. Depending on what you lot got me for Christmas. ;-) VT_  
  
                                "Oh Lord, make a little extra, Victor and Alex are coming." John said softly but he blushed at Victor's flirtation. He wondered if Alex knew Victor still sent him messages like that from time to time. Sherlock turned enjoying the red flush on John's cheeks and deducing the message.

                                "Who's dat?" Marius asked Greg curiously.

                                "Friends of your Uncles." He explained. 

                                 "We already were making plenty in case Nanny Hudson wanted some and so the boys would have something to snack on later." Sherlock sighed softly.

                                "Uncle Vic is coming?!" Hamish almost screamed.

                                "Hamish Gregory!" Sherlock scolded, turning around with his hands on his hips.

                                "I'm sorry..." He looked down. "It's just been a long time..."

                                "I know that 'Mish, but you cannot yell." John giggled as Sherlock swiped his hand through his hair, thus lacing it with flour again. Sending the two little boys into a fit of giggles. Sherlock sighed before he dusted the flour from his hair, moving over to two bowls and dropping in a bit of food coloring to make the batter red and green. Mycroft picked up a ladle and scooped out some of the green batter, focused on cooking the pancakes. "John the presents we bought for Alex and Victor are in our closet on the top left."

                                "I'll go fetch them." John said as he sat Hamish down on the floor promising him he'd be right back. 

                                "Marius do you like chocolate chips?" Mycroft asked very seriously, but his smirk was still toying at the edge of his lips. Something had shifted in the Holmes brothers' from the night before and here in the kitchen they fell into an easy stride beside each other in a way they hadn't done in ages. No terse remarks, no anger, instead all of that replaced with hidden smirks and silent conversation. Hamish watched with rapt attention, enjoying the way his Uncles were both rather relaxed and happy as they worked. 

                                "I wuv dem." Marius said nodding quickly and Greg chuckled. "Oh you maded dem red!" He said with astonishment as he clamored back over to watch Mycroft cook. John came back with a medium sized box, complete with garish wrapping paper and set it by the tree before sitting at the table and pulling Hamish back into his lap.

                                "Oh! And you made green ones!" Hamish said with delight as Sherlock set a plate of pancakes on the table, his little eyes going round with awe. "You made Christmas pancakes, Papa!" Hamish almost breathed the word, some emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Sherlock had turned back to the sink, rinsing something off but smiling. Tears formed in Hamish's eyes and he collided hard with the back of Sherlock's legs, bear hugging them. "T-thank you." He whispered, burying his face in the fabric on Sherlock's legs. Sherlock turned and lifted the boy in his arms, letting him have a prime spot to watch Mycroft finish the last batch of pancakes. He held him tightly letting the boy rest his head on his shoulder and hide his emotion.   
                                "This will be the first of the best Christmases you will ever have, 'Mish." Sherlock promised gently, drawing his brother's attention for a few moments. Mycroft wanted to commit such a tender moment to memory. "Next year we will go to your Uncle's. It is very pretty there at Christmas."  
                                "That will be nice." Hamish said dreamily. He drifted off into whatever day dream he was having, snuggled against his father's shoulder as the two brothers' gazes met.  
                                "You realize this means things shall have to be different." Mycroft said firmly but with gentle intention to Sherlock.  
                                "Perhaps it is time they were?" He countered softly and both of them turned back to their activities, their faces tight from not showing some emotion.

                                "Marius, what would you like Christmas?" John asked curiously to cover up the slightly awkward moment for the brothers and Marius smiled shyly at his Uncle.

                                "Art stuff." He mumbled.

                                "Marius wants to be an artist," Greg told John with a fond smile. "He likes coloring, drawing-" He was cut off.

                                "And painting." Marius added as if it was the most important thing and his tone indicated he was slightly annoyed Greg placed it last. "I wuv painting da best." He stated firmly.

                                "Oh, that is... Wonderful." Mycroft said softly, flushing with pleasure. Every eye in the room turned to him and he tried to pretend that he hadn't said it with such a pleased tone. Sherlock tilted his head slightly.  
                                "Ah..." He said knowingly. "But it has been ages hasn't it?" He inquired gently, Greg and John sharing a bemused look as once again the brothers had a half secret conversation.   
                                "Oh I haven't painted for years. I haven't had time. Though I suppose I have a reason to make time now." He smiled. "Marius I believe that Santa will bring you lots of art things. Trust me on that."  Sherlock was fighting laughter because he had not seen his brother so content in his own existence since before he'd disappeared to University. Since before their world had shifted so violently and everything they'd known had been upended.  
                                "You paint too, Papa Myc'?" Marius asked with amazement because he hadn't met any grownups before who painted.

                                "Yes, your Papa took very advanced art classes in University. He's very good." Greg said with a proud smile at his husband. 

                                "Can you teach me, Papa?" Marius asked excitedly, clapping his hands together. "Mummy said I not take art lessons 'cause we couldn't 'ford to." He looked down as he frowned. John gave a bit of a frown as well. It was sad to see how much the boy and his family had suffered and to watch how much he missed his parents. It was hard to remind himself that both of these darling boys had suffered before coming into their lives. He could remember when they first brought Hamish home from the crime scene. It had taken him a long time to speak and when he did they found the only two words he could say were Mum and Dad. And when he said it, it was almost as if he was asking for them. He sighed as he realized Marius was the exact picture of what Hamish would have been like had he been older when they found him. He looked up at his son, smiling as he saw that Sherlock was easy in his embrace, holding the little boy as close to him as possible while Hamish snuggled closer and watched Mycroft set the rest of the pancakes on the table.

                                "Yes Marius, I will teach you. It will be nice to paint again." Mycroft smiled and having finished the food walked over to hug the boy. "Your Uncle Sherlock can teach you to play instruments if you ever want to learn. He's very good at music." 

                                "Sherlock," John whispered very quietly, "We always give Hamish a gift on Christmas eve, do you think the P-U-P-P-Y would be a good gift for tonight?"

                                "No." Sherlock said with a gentle sternness. "Don't you worry yourself about those things Daddy. Santa has already told me what gift to give Hamish tonight." Sherlock said firmly, clear intention behind his words. "Santa has it  _all_  taken care of." He grinned at Mycroft. 

                                "Yes, you wouldn't want to ruin Santa's plans would you, Uncle John?" Mycroft said softly before he and Sherlock exchanged a glance followed by a smirk, before they both looked different ways. Greg and John knew that look, a Holmesian plan was in place, the brother's had been plotting.

                                "Oh dear Lord," John said with laugh. There was no telling what the pair were up to. He shot Greg a look and received a simple shrug in response.

                                "John, would you and Greg put together the kitchen and living room tables somewhere in the living room? There just simply isn't enough space in here for us all to eat." Sherlock kissed Hamish's forehead before sitting him down. "Mycroft and I need to get dressed before the boys arrive." Sherlock smiled.

                                "Papa I want to help!" Hamish said suddenly.

                                "Why don't you take Marius down and  _quietly_  knock on Nanny's door to see if she is ready for breakfast." Sherlock offered. "Marius hasn't met her yet and do you smell it?" Sherlock leaned down so his eyes were level with Hamish's, hinging from the waist to do so.

                                "She's making cookies!" Hamish's eyes went round as plates as he giggled with delight. "Come on Mar! You should meet Nanny!"

                                "Otay. Is she my Nan too?" Marius asked Greg who nodded, as he lifted one end of the kitchen table while John lifted the other, the pair carrying it to the living room.

                                "Go meet her," Greg urged as Marius took Hamish's hand and quickly left with his cousin.

                                "They're adorable." John and Greg said in unison which made them both chuckle.

                Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom, with Mycroft grabbing one of the duffels and heading upstairs to change. John and Greg worked together pulling the tables together and finding enough chairs to accommodate everyone, lapsing into a comfortable silence as they worked. John looked up when there was a knock on the door downstairs and footsteps up to their flat.

                                "Happy Christmas!" Alex greeted as he stepped into the flat.

                                "Happy Christmas, Alex." John greeted, walking over to give the man a quick but slightly awkward hug. John was never quite sure how he was supposed to act towards Alex and it made both of them a bit uncomfortable.

                Alex smiled, running a hand through his dark hair and his eyes growing pleased as he looked around. He knew full well the extent of the relationship Sherlock, John, and Victor had shared. Victor had told him the entire story very early on in their relationship so that Alex would be clear on how important John and Sherlock were to Victor. Alex knew Victor owed a lot to the 'Baker Street Boys,' and that in Victor's mind he still had not repaid even a fraction of what they were due. Alex enjoyed the stories that Victor told but sometimes when Victor got lost in a memory Alex worried he might leave him to go back to a life where two lovers were better than one. Alex blushed a bit guiltily as he knew that his fear was part of the reason the pair hadn't visited the Holmes family since Hamish turned two. Victor cutting off his visits abruptly following a slightly tipsy evening celebrating John and Sherlock's anniversary. He sighed, forcing that dark thought away and looked around at the family gathered before him.  Sherlock reappeared from the bedroom, wearing his purple shirt and black trousers. Which forced John to look away, lest he giggle and give away Sherlock's plan to torment Victor.

                                 "Sherlock!" Alex greeted, all smiles as he walked over and gave him a hug.

                                "Alex!" Sherlock said brightly. "You look well. I take it you joined Victor at the gym?" He smiled. Sherlock hugged him back, rather more friendly than John had and Alex said nothing, simply because he was too polite to mention it. He grinned broadly at the detective, winking slightly as he did. Sherlock for his part liked Alex, he was loud, charismatic, but polite. "Mycroft," He said shaking his hand as he emerged from the staircase and then walking over to shake Greg's. "It's good to see you two as well."  

                                "Where's Victor?" John asked curiously, his tone giving him away a bit. Sherlock and Alex both grinned. 

                                "Oh he saw Hamish downstairs with Mrs. Hudson and went to say hello. Who's the adorable little red head belong to?" He grinned as Greg blushed a bit.

                                "Oh, he's ours." Greg said proudly.

                                 "He is absolutely adorable. He told Victor that Hamish was his best friend."

                                "Sherlock I am buying you a new set of dishes." Mycroft grumbled as he sorted through the plates in order to find enough decent ones for all of them. 

                                "You'll have to discuss that with John. I'm not allowed to touch them save for eating... Well not since that experiment. Do you know we sometimes still find pieces in the wall?" Sherlock said it conversationally but grinned knowing it would miff John. John didn't show his reaction on his face but Sherlock laughed all the same.

\---

                                "UNCLE VIC!" Hamish screamed and launched himself at Victor's legs, letting go of Marius' hand for a moment. Victor scooped him up and hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He set him down and he rushed back over, grabbing Marius hand and knocking softly on Mrs. Hudson's door.

                                "Oh hello boys!" Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as she opened the door, giving Victor a cheeky wink as she did. "Hamish who is this?" She knelt down and looked at Marius as Hamish gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

                                "This is Mar... Marius. He's my cousin and my bestest friend!" Hamish announced proudly. "Marius this is Nanny Hudson." 

                                "Pleasure to meet you Marius." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

                                "Such a good boy." Victor smiled and ruffled Hamish's hair. "I'm going to go up and see your Dads, yea?"

                                "Okay Uncle Vic!" Hamish grinned. 

                                "Let them know we'll be up in a few. I need to finish something up and I'll bring the boys." Mrs. Hudson motioned for the boys to come inside giving them both a gingerbread man to nibble on.

\---

                Victor took a deep breath and put a hand over his heart as he looked up the stairs. It still fluttered slightly whenever he came here, memories crowding around every corner. He still couldn't shake that feeling, deep down in his core that this place was _home_. Home like no other place had ever been before and sadly would ever be again. He loved Alex without a doubt and he could be loyal to him and him alone while spending the rest of his life beside him. But his heart still held tender, aching feelings for the two men who made Baker Street their home. He knew anger was waiting behind whatever smiles he got today, broken hearts and words that were never able to be spoke because of how abruptly he had turned away from them. It had been the hardest decision of his life, turning his back on them when he knew they still needed him. Still _wanted_ him in their lives. He could see it in the lines in their faces in the paper, read it in between the lines John wrote on his blog, and saw it in every post about Hamish that came across his feeds on the various social media sites John used. Sometimes on cold nights after a particularly bad nightmare had snuck up on him again he would pine for these two men, for the walls of this place to surround him like their bodies once did. He took another deep breath, pushing his emotion down before coming up the stairs all smiles.

                                "And just _what_  is this?" He asked with a chuckle as he stepped into the room and found Mycroft and Sherlock gently teasing each other as they set the table. "I do believe I've died. Though whether I've been very good or very naughty is up for debate." He grinned. 

                                "Oh piss off." Sherlock grinned but dropped everything in his hands to walk over and hug Victor tightly. "Happy Christmas, git." He said softly against his ear, enjoying the soft shiver that went through his body.

                                "Happy Christmas, Sherly." Victor teased and watched as Sherlock grimaced. "And you too John." He walked over and gave John a soft, tentative hug. "I see you got him to stop worrying." He nodded back to Sherlock who'd resumed setting the table, not entirely removing his arm from John's back.

                                "Oh, I see." Sherlock said haughtily. "You two are in against me again. Alex, we may have to do something about this mutiny. Perhaps I should continue to tell you all of Victor's dark secrets." He laughed as Alex smirked.

                                "I already know all his dark secrets, Sherlock. We'll have to do something else to get back them." Alex laughed as he walked into the kitchen to fetch cups.

                                "Mycroft, Greg it is nice to see you two." Victor smiled, shaking their hands.

                                "Victor you look well. The reports in the papers say you're doing very well at your father's company. I saw that Alex got a promotion as well. Congratulations." Mycroft smiled as Victor flushed slightly. 

                                "Oh, yes. Thank you." He moved over to Alex and took his hand. "Alex is amazing. He is going to go far in this world."Alex blushed then but he tried to cover his shyness with a smirk.

                                "Well, when your future husband is next in line to be CEO it was to be expected that I got  a promotion, even though I insisted he not do that." He gave Victor a quick kiss before turning to help Sherlock set the table.

                                "You deserved that promotion. I had nothing to do with it." Victor said firmly.

                                "Are Marius and Hamish still downstairs?" Greg asked Victor as he moved to sit next to Mycroft at the table.

                                "Yes, Mrs. Hudson said she had something she wanted them to help with." Victor smiled and nuzzled his nose against Alex's cheek.

                                "We got you lot some gifts." John added and he pointed to the wrapped gifts in the kitchen.

                                "Oh, we got you and Hamish some things too," Alex added as he came back with the cups and some orange juice. "They're out in the car. Want me to go get them, dear?" Sliding his hand around Victor's waist and smiling.

                                "Not just yet, love." Victor smiled, leaning into him. "We can get the presents in a bit. We haven't been very sociable of late and I think it might give us a bad reputation." He smirked.

                                "Well we've all been rather busy." Sherlock added. 

                                "You're only saying that because it protects _you_ from admitting you have also been unsociable." Mycroft said with a wry smirk. 

                                "Sorry boys!" Mrs. Hudson said softly, coming up the stairs with a large tray of cookies and pastries in her hands. "I wanted to finish putting this all together." She set it down on the counter in the kitchen as the two boys ran to Sherlock and Mycroft, crawling in their respective fathers' laps. 

                                "Nanny's house smells like baking!" Hamish said with a grin.

                                "Mrs. Hudson, come have breakfast with us." Sherlock pointed to an empty chair for her. "There is plenty." He smiled warmly at her.

                                "Sherlock - did you cook?" She asked, her surprise and potential suspicion clear. 

                                "We worked together actually." Mycroft said firmly, laughing as she almost missed her chair in surprise.

                                "What?" She looked between the two of them. Her face lighting up with a big eager grin. "Oh you two! Always pretending to be so angry with each other..." Her smile went impossibly wider.

                                "Oh please don't." Sherlock flushed a bit and looked down at Hamish, sitting him in his own chair and preparing him a plate of food. 

                                "We've simply decided to embrace the Christmas spirit, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft added, ignoring the slight pink on his own cheeks, choosing instead to focus as he worked at making a plate up for Marius. 

                                "Seriously, what is going on?" Victor said quietly, looking mildly shocked. He motioned between the two brothers, looking slightly incredulous. He turned to John and Greg with a skeptical look. "Have you two  _actually_ gotten the Holmes brother's to be... Friendly?"

                                "We didn't do anything and if we did we don't know how we did it." Greg answered with a chuckle. John laughed softly as well.

                                "Yeah, they were they're usual grumpy selves last night. Then we wake up this morning to find them cooking, together, in the kitchen... And they were just like this." John said with a fond smile, motioning to the two men who were doing their best to pretend they weren't overhearing the discussion.

                                "Well I call that a Christmas miracle. The Grinch's hearts grew two sizes today!" Victor cheered, looking at the children who giggled. Greg looked over at Mycroft and kissed his cheek.

                                "I do like this. You two getting along." He said softly, smiling. "Is it a permanent thing or should I expect things to go back to normal on New Years?"

                                    "We'', we will have to see, won't we?" Mycroft said it firmly his eyes flashing mischievously. Sherlock made an impatient noise.

                                "Don't you dare do that at the table." Sherlock snapped suddenly, shaking his head. Greg went slightly red and chuckled.

                                "Oh please, like you two don't do the same thing." Mycroft grinned as Sherlock grew flustered.

                                "Oh lord..." Victor sighed but smiled as the plates were passed around. "Red and green pancakes? Are they poisoned?" He teased Sherlock, his gaze meeting the detectives and flashing slightly.

                                "How rude!" Hamish exclaimed, poking the air with his fork. "Papa and Uncle worked hard to make break... Breakyfast!" Hamish defended them.

                                "He's playing, 'Mish." Sherlock smiled, ruffling his son's hair. "And no Victor, they aren't poisoned, they're tradition." He said it in a very matter-of-fact tone which made John giggle.

                                "A Christmas tradition from the Holmes family." Mycroft added somewhat sternly.

                                "Alex - are you sure there was nothing _disreputable_ in our coffee this morning?" Victor turned to look at his lover with a grin. Alex went to retort with a naughty comment but Sherlock cut him off.

                                "I _will_ make you leave." Sherlock warned.

                                "Oh come off it you lot. Be nice." Mrs. Hudson scolded as she offered up the pastries. Sherlock took one of his favorites and smiled shyly as she looked pleased. 

                                "Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He mumbled.

                                "Nanny, did make all these cookies by yourself?" Hamish asked quietly, awe in his voice as he did.

                                "Yes I did. I wanted to make sure you had cookies for Santa." Mrs. Hudson smiled. He grinned before biting into his pancakes. "Papa! These are del.. Del... Delicious!" He exclaimed proudly, enjoying the warm smile his father gave him.

                                "Thank you love." Sherlock smiled. "But your Uncle made them. I just helped."

                Mycroft and Sherlock both helped their sons, ignoring their own food for the moment as they talked softly with the boys. Sherlock pausing to grin up at John before stopping Hamish from smashing pancake in his hair. John enjoying an easy moment as he watched his husband sink into something so _pedestrian_ as caring for his son and enjoying the company of friends and family around the holidays. Something Sherlock never seemed interested in before. His attention shifted to Greg, smiling more as he watched his best friend positively glowing with happiness as he watched his own husband sink into a more normal state of being. Mycroft grinned as Marius praised the pancakes and the cook before gently ruffling his hair. When he looked up and saw Greg looking at him, he blushed a bit and smiled more. Victor was in utter shock. He simply sat and stared, his mouth opened in surprise, completely taken aback by everything he was witnessing.

                                "Close your mouth dear, you'll catch flies." Alex teased, closing Victor's mouth by lifting his chin and smiling fondly at him. "I'm just as shocked as you are but I suggest we pretend as if it's all normal because if we cause too much attention to their wonderful behavior they could start acting like their old brooding selves." He gave him a quick kiss, giggling and choosing to ignore Sherlock's sudden hissed 'Get out.'

                                "Sherlock, stop right now or I'll start kissing you in front of all these people and embarrass you to no end. " John warned with a chuckle as he started to eat his own food.  He was focused on the scene before him, so much so that he almost jumped when Victor placed his hand on his thigh, but he didn't object to it. He looked over at him and smiled a shy soft smile, a tiny flush on his cheeks.

                                "Your fiancée may not like you doing that." John whispered in his ear, making it look like he'd just been reaching for syrup for his pancakes. Alex had not only noticed the gesture but had expected it. He knew that Victor and John shared an even more tender and powerful bond than the one Victor shared with Sherlock. He had not been surprised when he saw Victor grab up his phone and stalk from their room to answer John's messages recently. He knew Victor loved him. He felt like he would not be a very supportive partner if he tried to hem Victor in and stop him from interacting with the Holmes. Instead he resolved himself to speak up when he did start feeling uncomfortable and for now to focus on Marius and Greg as Greg tended to his son.

                                "How old are you Marius?" Alex asked curiously, grinning as Marius held up two fingers and mumbled around a mouthful of pancakes.

                                "Two."

                                "Don't speak with food in your mouth." Mycroft scolded gently and Marius muttered an apology.

                                "When did you two adopt him?" Alex continued on, smirking as Greg blushed a bit.

                                "We're actually still in the process of adopting him. It's a rough spot he was in and we haven't filled out the proper paperwork yet, but he has really been ours since yesterday." Greg's voice tensed and he looked down. His hand gently sliding over the boys shoulders as Marius bit his lip. Mycroft leaned over and whispered something to him and he cheered up a bit. Sherlock had stopped eating and was staring very pointedly at the wall, something Victor easily noticed as a telltale sign of guilt.

                                "Oh..." Victor said softly, his eyes turning to Sherlock who tensed. "So it was you two over at those flats..." He sighed as Sherlock looked down, fighting the desire to comfort the detective that clawed its way up into his chest. "Marius and Hamish have a bit in common, don't they?" He asked tentatively.  
                                "Don't." Sherlock said quietly, his voice cracking. He looked down at his hands and tensed, moving like he was going to start spinning his ring but catching himself in time. John's face tightened as he watched Sherlock try to navigate his feelings and as Hamish began to look upset.   
                                "Papa?" He asked softly, putting his hand on Sherlock's arm.  
                                "He's okay Hamish. Just give him a minute." Mycroft said softly, shooting a very dark, threatening look at Victor who went rigid.  
                                "I'm sorry, I didn't..." Victor muttered, concern on his face. He swallowed hard and looked away.   
                                "I didn't know you still tried to figure out which cases were mine." Sherlock added, the surprise and emotion in his voice very clear as he tried to cut through the heaviness of the moment.   
                                "Papa you need to eat!" Hamish said suddenly trying to force pancake into Sherlock's mouth. Syrup smeared all over Sherlock's face and he couldn't stop a soft chuckle. He looked up at his brother for a moment and Mycroft began to chuckle too until both of them were laughing loudly, almost with tears in their eyes as they remembered some private thing.   
                                "Don't you dare." Sherlock threatened Mycroft, his eyes darkening as Mycroft's expression change.  
                                "Oh but I think I dare..." Mycroft grinned darkly, challenge flashing in his eyes.

                                "What are you two laughing about?" Greg asked, looking worried and concerned as the air between the brothers shifted.

                                "Oh no..." John mumbled softly, he knew that look. There was some unspoken challenge going on. They all looked confused when Mycroft stood suddenly, Sherlock tensing as if preparing for an attack and then looking utterly bewildered as Mycroft walked towards the kitchen.

                                "What on earth are you doing, Myc'?" Greg asked softly, blushing when John giggled as his use of the pet name.

                                "Papa Myc! Come back!" Marius said eagerly, craning his little neck to see where Mycroft went. Alex held Victor's hand under the table, squeezing it reassuringly to let him know it was okay. Victor smiled softly, almost grinning when John's hand came to rest on his other one adding to the reassurance.

                                "It scares me when he Mycroft grins like that. Why is he grinning like that Sherlock? And why are _you_ blushing?"  John asked with utter shock as he turned to register the look on Sherlock's face. He was red and flustered but looked tense like he was expecting someone to pop out of a corner and attack.The brothers were silent as Mycroft came back with the coffee pot and set it down, feigning like he was confused as to why everyone was so concerned. Sherlock crossed his arms defiantly, glaring up at his brother as if daring him. Mycroft simply stopped and placed his hands on his hips, turning his attention fully on Sherlock as everyone else in the room stopped and held their breath. Their faces were unreadable and even their husbands couldn't tell if they were playing or serious. Sherlock refused to eat, primly wiping syrup off his face before crossing his arms again. Mycroft's face settled into a terse grin, quirking one eyebrow.

                                "Sherlock Holmes if you do not eat your breakfast I shall be forced to make you eat." Mycroft said quietly, just the hint of a smirk in his voice. Sherlock simply glared at him, raising his own eyebrow as he did. John and Greg looked ready to intervene but were caught off guard by a sudden flurry of movement which ended with Mycroft deftly tilting Sherlock's chair so far back his feet couldn't reach the floor and shoving a forkful of pancake into his surprised mouth. Mycroft smirked as Sherlock coughed and sputtered. "You may be older and taller, however brother mine, I shall always be faster." He grinned triumpantly as Sherlock swallowed and he righted his chair, however as Sherlock was settling down he swiped his finger full of the pastry cream and smeared it straight across Mycroft's cheek and nose. There was a tense moment where no one in the room dared to breathe.

                                "I said no, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted but his face softened and the two brothers lapsed into a fit of laughter that both relieved and alarmed the others in the room.

                                "This, of course, means war, brother mine." Mycroft narrowed his eyes but the laughter continued to overtake their sternness, leaving them almost breathless. "Don't make me sit on you again, that was unpleasant for all involved. Eat or else." Mycroft wiped the cream off his face nonchalantly as Sherlock sighed and consented to begin eating. Mycroft resumed his seat and began eating his own food, the two of them acting as if nothing had happened. Mrs. Hudson was giggling softly into her napkin as she watched the four shock faces of the adults and the two glowing faces of enraptured children. 

                                "You're a jerk." Sherlock pouted, shoving a forkful of food in his mouth.

                                "Did... What?" Victor laughed, squeezing Alex's hand. "John - what did I miss?" His mouth was agape in surprise.

                                "Papa! No food fights!" Hamish pouted but only because he wanted to fight too. 

                                "Tell your Uncle that, 'Mish. He started it." Sherlock said wistfully, acting as if nothing happened. John let out a scoff of laughter as he finally felt his breath returning. Greg began to chuckle as well and it took several moments before they stopped.

                                "Well?" Victor demanded and Mycroft chuckled.

                                "When Sherlock was younger and our parents would go away for business he would refuse to eat for days. The only way to get him to eat anything was to catch him by surprise. One year father had business in France just before Christmas, with the household staff on holiday we were left alone. Our family had the tradition of making breakfast together on Christmas eve morning from the time I was old enough to remember and in order to protect Sherlock's fragile emotional state I wanted to ensure we stayed as close to our routine as possible. So he and I made our usual breakfast but Sherlock was so upset with our parents - who'd promised they would return before Christmas,  he refused to eat. He hadn't eaten on Christmas Eve so Christmas morning I told him if he didn't eat I would make him eat. He refused and preceded to tell me all the reasons he might never eat again, so I found a solution. He has always been long and powerful so I knew a direct attack would be a failure. I tipped his chair back and started forcing pancakes in his mouth, one at a time, laughing as he choked. He retaliated by arming himself with a can of whipped topping which could not go unanswered. By the time our war was over and victory negotiated and peace restored there was food everywhere. All over the walls, the windows, our clothes and hair, and just... Utterly everywhere. We started laughing, descending rapidly into a loud fit of giggles just as our parents walked in. I shall never forget the looks on their faces." Sherlock had his hand over his abdomen as he laughed hard, apparently remembering the look as well.

                                "They rather looked like Victor does right now, wouldn't you say Mycroft?" Sherlock added, his eyes flashing a teasing grin as his former lover.

                                "Oh piss off!" Victor said rolling his eyes. "John I'm very concerned in this new behavior of his. I think Sherly must have hit his head." He tilted his head slightly. 

                                "I said stop calling me that." Sherlock snapped, pouting more. Victor laughed even harder and John chuckled slightly. Alex laughed too but his eyes betrayed a bit of jealousy at how easy it was for Victor to simply fall back in stride with John and Sherlock. That was one thing they didn't have. Their communication required a lot of work and effort, negotiated conversations, discussing their feelings, and trying not to assume what the other was thinking. Here, with them, it just flowed easily and naturally.

                                "I can't believe you two used to be so... Close." Greg said, his surprise clear though he spoke with a chuckle. "For as long as I've known the both you, you've acted like you could never get along. Yet here the both of you are acting like you are best friends and with the joy of being children again." 

                                "Clearly, Greg, it was all just an act," John teased Sherlock, enjoying his blush. John and Greg exchanged a look as Mrs. Hudson continued to giggle. Their look was clear, they were both hoping this was how the brothers truly were. All of their constant fighting and bitterness was grating and growing old. They knew they both cared deeply for the other and if this Christmas miracle allowed them to start acting as real brothers, well both Greg and John would be very content to enjoy it.

                                "We were very close until I went to University..." Mycroft said softly, something tightening in his face. He looked at Sherlock with some confusion, as if he'd just realized something. Sherlock flushed just slightly.

                                "Not now." Sherlock said warningly, looking down. Mycroft simply nodded. 

                                "Alex I think we'd better start coming around more or else it will just be utterly confusing when we do make it by." Victor smiled but furrowed his brow a bit at Alex's face. "Is everything alright?" He whispered, leaning close to Alex so only he could hear him.

                                "Things sure are different for you all now, aren't they?" Mrs. Hudson said fondly, smiling.

                                "Hm? I'm fine." Alex said and really he didn't think he was lying. He knew being jealous was petty and only explored his own insecurities. He was trying to let it go while considering the root of it at the same time. "I am fine, love. I'm very glad you're so happy though. I haven't seen a smile that big in a long time." He grinned, kissing Victor's cheek and slipping his arm around his fiancé. He scooted a bit closer to him because he felt like the closer he was to Victor the less jealous he would be.

                Marius and Hamish were growing bored from the lack of attention and being so far away from each other so they started trying to toss little bits of biscuit at each other. An act that was immediately stamped down by the brothers. Marius sighed as he pouted, watching Hamish fussing with his fork. He looked up at Greg, crossing his arms in a defiant way. Hamish crawled into Sherlock's lap, sighing loudly with content as he snuggled against Sherlock.

                                "I want to sit with Mish." Marius whispered to Greg who nodded. 

                                "Sherlock, think you have room on your lap for Marius too?" Sherlock looked suddenly a bit tense, his eyes going a bit wide. Mycroft almost laughed, but checked himself just in time to protect his brother. Sherlock was scared of holding Marius - unable to check his reaction because he was used to the fear that came with holding his own son. This was his brothers' child... That made things quite a bit more frightening.

                                "Here," Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson switched chairs so Mycroft was now sitting directly next to Sherlock. He pulled Marius into his lap so the two boys were touching shoulders, both of them resting happily in their fathers' laps. "This should be easier for everyone and since your Uncle needs to eat. He and I have some chores to do later and I need him to be fully fed and ready."

                                "Oh I'll be fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes but he started eating again. Hamish took Marius' hand in his own. "Daddy?" He looked over at John, ignoring the soft 'aw' noises Victor and Alex made. "Could we go to the park later?"

                                "Sure, of course. We'll even go look at some Christmas lights." John promised Hamish, ruffling his hair.

                                "I wanna see dem too." Marius said with a pout, thinking he was not allowed to go.

                                "You're more than welcome to come along, Marius." John smiled.

                                "Yea!" Marius said, clapping his hands together.

                                "I think your Daddy should go with you and your Uncle John." Mycroft said with purpose. "That way we'll all be back here together once your Uncle Sherlock and I finish our little chores." 

                                "That sounds like a good idea, Mycroft." Sherlock smiled at John. 

                                "Well this is quite an interesting little picture." Victor said smiling as he leaned into Alex. 

                                "Don't worry, you two will adopt a child of your own and we'll be having play dates soon enough." Sherlock grinned. He looked at Alex and wondered if he was doing something to upset him. He could read Alex's emotion in his face easily and it bothered him far more than it would have previously. His eyes darkened slightly and he moved his finger as if he was going to start spinning his ring but stopped when he saw the look Victor gave him. Victor turned to look at John who raised an eyebrow at Sherlock and Mycroft sighed softly. Right, there were three of them to catch him brooding now.

                                "It s a good thing Sherlock. I'm glad you all are so happy. You deserve it." Victor said with another warm smile.

                                "So do you." Sherlock added fondly, both of them blushing slightly as they finally looked away from the other.

                                "Alex, how are the plans coming along? Have you two finalized everything for the wedding?" Mycroft asked softly, trying to spare Alex a moment of jealousy. Hamish wriggled down and pulled Marius' hand until he came with him. The two of them disappearing up the stairs to play with Hamish's toys.

                                "Yeah, finally finished them a few days ago." Alex said with a smile. "We're getting married in March."  He said, leaning over to kiss Victor's cheek. "We actually could get married in January but it will be a bit warmer in March so we figured that was a better time." He added, suddenly feeling as if the silence had become somewhat awkward. John finally finished eating and he placed a hand on Sherlock's leg, rubbing it gently as he smiled at Victor and Alex.

                                "That's is wonderful." He said honestly.

                                "Maybe Marius and Hamish can be the ring bearers?" Alex suggested happily.

                                "Oh that would be just adorable." Greg said. 

                                "That is a perfect idea, love." Victor grinned and kissed Alex's cheek. 

                                "Are you two doing anything special for Christmas?" Sherlock asked quietly.

                                "I think we're going to Alex's family?" Victor asked softly, turning to look at his fiancé for confirmation.

                                "Yeah, Christmas night but that morning we'll be going to your parents place." Alex reminded him.

                                "Yes, that's right. Brunch with my parents." Victor smiled.

                                "Mrs. Hudson will you be joining us for dinner?" Mycroft asked softly.

                                "Oh if you all want me to." She blushed, flushed with pleasure as the brothers both turned to encourage her presence.

                                "Of course we do. You're as much a part of this family as the rest of us." Sherlock added.

                                "You're the boy's grandmother Mrs. Hudson, of course we want you here." John assured her before looking back at Victor and Alex with a forced smile. He didn't know why but he suddenly felt a bit jealous. He wasn't used to seeing the pair be affectionate and it seemed like it might start eating away at him if he didn't change his attention to something else.               

                                "I'm going to go finish up some chores, thank you for breakfast." Mrs. Hudson smiled and forced both of the Holmes brothers to accept a kiss on the cheek before she swept downstairs. 

                                "Well Alex, if you two get time feel free to stop by here. Santa will be bringing a puppy so Hamish will want everyone to meet him." John offered, still smiling. 

                                "I think I'll go check on the boys," Greg said suddenly, his face a bit tight. Even though he knew the boys were safe upstairs and had only been gone for a short time he didn't like that Marius was where he couldn't keep an eye on him. Mycroft grabbed his arm.

                                "Greg, it's okay." He whispered, kissing his cheek.

                Mycroft watched Greg go up the stairs to the boys and simply sat there, brooding gently as he did. He slipped his phone from his pocket and began texting furiously, arranging presents for Marius to be delivered later that evening. Sherlock simply looked between John and Victor for a moment, furrowing his brow.

                                "I'm going to go get the gifts out of the car." Victor stood and started for the door. "John, want to help?" He stopped, smiling as he turned back. Alex looking up, suddenly confused.

                                "Sure, I'd love to." John said quickly, possibly a little too quickly, as he walked to the door with Victor. Sherlock and Alex were both making the same confused face as they watched the two men leave, Sherlock letting out a soft sigh.

                                "Should... Should I be concerned about that?" Alex asked the detective with hesitation.

                                "No, Alex." Sherlock said gently, smiling a bit. "I just think the two of them need a moment to talk. They've been avoiding each other. I'm sorry." And he meant it genuinely, which made Alex smile shyly. 

                                "I'll be right back." Mycroft said and stood, stepping into the kitchen and calling someone on the phone. Alex and Sherlock were left alone in the living room.

\---

                Hamish and Marius had tottered into Hamish's room and Hamish was eagerly showing Marius his toys by pulling almost everything out of the bins they were kept in. He kept showing him toy after toy trying to spark his interest, however nothing seemed to garner much.

                                "What do you want to play with Mar?" Hamish finally asked, looking worried.

                                "Da Legos." Marius said after much serious thought.  Greg came up the stairs in time to see the boys working together to build a small building with the Legos.  

                                "Hey you two," He greeted as he moved to sit on the floor with them. He sighed softly, he felt better knowing they were okay and being near his son. He was sure he was just being paranoid because of the events of the day before but being away from Marius for too long made him nervous.

                                "Are you okay Uncle?" Hamish looked up at him. "You have the same look Papa gets when he's worrying about something." The boys faces turned up to look at him, Marius trying to see what Hamish saw.

                                "Hm? I'm fine, love. I'm not worried. I'm just focused on building this house with you two." Greg lied as he took Marius into his lap and helped him break apart two bricks that were stuck together. Hamish watched them for a moment, something in his face betraying the thoughtfulness going on behind his eyes.

                                "Brooding!" Hamish grinned as he peered down at his house, not catching the slight blush on Greg's cheeks. "I think this man is the criminal!" He said proudly to Marius.

                                "Crimal?" Marius asked and Greg chuckled.

                                "Bad guy," He offered the boy, trying to give him a term he could understand.

                                "Oh, he not a bad guy he a Lego." Marius said seriously.

                                "Darling, it's just pretending." Greg chuckled but Marius shook his head.

                                "I can't pretend. It too silly." Mycroft walked in just at that moment and something in his face tightened. How much Marius was like he had been as a child.

                                "Pretending can be fun though." Mycroft said softly. "When appropriate." He sank down beside Greg and Marius. Not responding to the incredulous look that Greg gave him.

                                "Uncle Mycroft - I thought you said pretending was... Foolish?" Hamish looked up, confusion all over his face.

                                "Sometimes grownups can be wrong." Mycroft smiled, ruffling the boys hair.

                                "Oh, I should have recorded that. You've never said anything about you being wrong before." Greg teased, giving a kiss on the cheek. Mycroft shot him a warning look.

                                "Pretending is hard." Marius said with a pout. And it was for him. He'd never truly been able to wrap his mind around make believe, which always led his father to say he was a grown up in a child's body. His mother had disliked it and tried to encourage him to pretend and be a child, but it had always been sort of true.

                                "Pretending is hard." Mycroft conceded as he pulled Marius into his lap, putting his forehead against the boys'. "It's hard to pretend that things are magical or different when things are so tough all around you. Isn't it? When you know how hard things are for Mum and Dad." He held the boy tightly, protectively. Greg and Hamish both watched in a bit of awe as Mycroft so easily consoled and spoke with Marius. Marius who was nodding sadly as Mycroft spoke, his little arms wrapped around Mycroft's neck. "You're wonderful Marius and pretending or not pretending is all okay. Hamish can teach you how to pretend if you want and if you don't you don't have to." He promised and Marius blinked away a tear, Greg did too looking out the window for a moment.

                                "I want ta learn." Marius said seriously rubbing his nose against Mycroft's. "I never been good at it." He admitted before crawling out of Mycroft's lap and sitting next to Hamish. "Teach me, Mish." He pleaded, tugging on his shirt sleeve. Greg moved, sitting closer to Mycroft and resting a hand on his shoulder.

                                "You're a wonderful father." He whispered to his husband, smiling broadly.

                                "I am just doing the best I can. I forgot how young Sherlock was when I started caring for him. It's quite similar." 

                                "Okay..." Hamish hummed thoughtfully. "I got it!" He grinned. Marius still had on John's jumper. He stood up tall. "I'm the detective and you are my for...for.." he looked thoughtful.  
                                "Forensic." Mycroft offered.  
                                "That doctor." Hamish said softly. "That means you help heal people and know what the bad men do to hurt people. That's what Daddy does. Or we could be pirates. All you have to do is close your eyes and feel like you are that person." He got a little toy out that had a teddy bear and the parts to fix him. "Doctor Marius can you fix him?" He asked seriously. "He was hurt stopping a bank robber." Mycroft smiled as he watched, leaning into Greg.  
                                "How he hurt?" Marius asked with concern looking down at the teddy bear trying to see what Hamish saw. "Was he shooted?" He asked with worry because he knew how bad that was, especially after knowing his mother had been shot. "I can't fix him if he been shooted."  He said with a bit of frown, his voice becoming a bit high. Greg was quick to move over and ran his hand through Marius' hair, trying to calm him.

                                "Why don't you two play pirates instead?" Greg offered quietly.

                                "I'm sowwy." Hamish said softly, his eyes going wide and tears filling them as he saw Marius' face. "Dat was bad." He started to cry. Mycroft pulled both the boys in his arms, sighing softly as they clung to him. 

                                "Easy now..." He whispered, holding them for a moment. He walked over with them and pulled out the pirate outfits that Hamish had. "Let's try pirates." He helped the two boys put on the bandanas while Greg cleared away the other toys.

                                "Don't cry, Mish." Marius said and wrapped his arms around Hamish as they sat on the bed. He didn't look as upset anymore, but he was a bit sad that he had somehow made Hamish cry. "It otay." He promised, kissing his cheek. He pulled out of the hug and adjusted his bandanna. Mycroft set them on the twin bed in the room.

                                "This is your ship, if you step off the bed you're in the water and you could possibly not make it back to the ship in time." He said firmly.

                                "Papa Myc aren't you and Daddy in the water den?" He asked them giggle and Greg dramatically gasped.

                                "Oh no! We are are! Send us a life boat Captain Hamish!" Greg said laughing.

                                "I am not in the water." Mycroft said dramatically, standing on a small rug. "I'm on an island! You're demanding passage beyond my shores and I want to know why." Greg tried not to gape as Mycroft played pretend with their son, but it was a very near thing.

                                "Oh no!" Hamish said and he pulled the sheet up to toss Greg a rope. "Grab on Uncle!" He shouted. "Marius - do something to convince the evil Island King to let us by!" He shouted eagerly, gripping his hand as Greg crawled into the bed.

                                "Uncle Greg! Grab the rope!!!" Hamish exclaimed, shouting as he threw the sheet again.

                                "I'm trying to grab the rope!" Greg said as he climbed on to bed and clutched Hamish tight. "Oh Thank God, you saved my life young lad, thank you!" He said kissing his cheek over and over again until he giggled and pulled away.

                                "Evil Island King? Dat's Papa." Marius giggled but he crawled to the edge of the bed and held onto the bed frame. "May we peas pass? We wanna go... 'Mish where do we wanna go?" He giggled looking over at his cousin.

                                "How about Neverland?" Greg asked, pretending to be choking on water.

                                "We wanna go to Nevaland!" He shouted to Mycroft. "Wait shouldn't we be flying for dat?" He asked very seriously.

                                "Neverland?" Mycroft said firmly, standing up to full height before leaning down to be at eye level with Marius. "Neverland is full of make believe! Even the food there is make believe! You must first prove to me you can pretend." He was grinning and Greg committed the memory firmly in his mind, never wanting to forget it. "What color are the leaves on the tree on my island?" Mycroft asked softly, his smirk not fading from the corners of his mouth. Marius looked beside Mycroft and saw no tree but then he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to pretend that there was. If there was a tree there what would it look like? Not like a tree you would see in a big forest, it was a tiny island. He opened his eyes and smiled.

                                "You have one of da funny looking palm trees. Da leaves are geen." 

                                "Correct!" Mycroft exclaimed grandly. "Alright then you little pirates." He straightened up and motioned. "You may sail through!" He chuckled softly, watching Greg's face as Greg moved over to him and hugged him. "Close your mouth dear or you'll drown." He chided gently.

                                "Yea! A palm tree!" Hamish squealed and tackled Marius in a hug. Marius giggled and fell back on the bed with Hamish.

                                "Wait, now we gotta get to Nevland." He insisted and pulled away to jump on top of Greg who laughed. "How we get to Nevland, Daddy?" Greg sat him on the bed, running a hand through his hair and smiling at him.

                                "You have to have pixie dust which is very hard to come by but you two are lucky because I met a fairy once and she was very nice and gave me this lovely little jar full of the stuff." He stood. "You boys close your eyes." He ordered and Marius hugged Hamish close and Greg sprinkled pretend fairy dust on them. "Okay, it's done. Now all you have to is think happy thoughts and you can fly." He promised. Hamish started giggling, jumping on the bed as he did. 

                                "Daddys are home for Christmas! I have a new cousin!" He exclaimed happily. Mycroft simply smiled and walked over, kissing Greg's cheek. The boys kept bouncing and Mycroft sighed happily.

                                "You boys enjoy yourselves. I'm going to go see if Sherlock is ready to finish up our Christmas chores." Mycroft gave Marius a kiss on the top of the head before sweeping out of the room and back downstairs.

                While Mycroft had been showing his son how to pretend Sherlock had been trying to smooth things over with the noticeably upset Alex. Sherlock knew he was uncomfortable with the fact that John and Victor had gone outside alone and he really wanted him to be comfortable.

                                "I really am sorry. It must be very strange to come here and see this. If we've made you uncomfortable and that's why you've stayed away I do hope you'll forgive us." Sherlock stood and moved closer so they could talk. Alex gave a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

                                "I never meant for him to stay away, I honestly didn't. I like coming here but sometimes I can get a tad jealous of the way you all fall so easily in step with each other. It's childish really but he's told me  _everything_ , Sherlock. I can't help but be jealous." 

                                "I know." Sherlock said softly and sighed, he gently put a hand on Alex's arm. "I'm glad he's told you. I wouldn't want there to be secrets. Secrets destroy. I just think it's hard for us to remember that things aren't what they used to be. It was hard for me too when they first bonded because the two of them move so easily around each other and they both figured me out within moments. Jealousy is expected and it's okay. It means you really do love him. I really am glad you two are happy."

                                "I do love him. It's just difficult for me, Sherlock. You three have this bond that is just incredible and I just worry that..." Alex looked away.

                                "I know you love him, that's easy to see. You're more than enough. You're perfect for him. He needs someone all to himself, someone to worship and to worship him. He really does love you. It's clear in all the pictures the press have of the two of you, it's clear when he talks, when he leans into you. It's beautiful really. What we had was different... And I'm going to try to make this easier for John and that should help I hope..." Sherlock muttered.

                                "Yeah, Vic said he's been having a tough time." Alex said with a sigh, but he was a bit happy to know that Sherlock could see that Victor really did love him. "He texted night before last about being lonely and wanting you not to worry about it." Alex said easily because he figured John had told his husband about it. "Has that gotten any better? I know he's not used to being on his own, he was so used to having Vic around."

                                "I'm hoping it's gotten better but I have yet to learn how to make that man tell me what he's thinking. How do you get Victor to do it?" Sherlock grinned. "I'm sorry if it bothered you that John did that. I never really thought they would bond the way they did." Sherlock flushed slightly.

                                "No, I don't mind at all. He really doesn't have anyone besides Victor to talk to if he needs to talk about you, I understand." He said sincerely. "But Victor didn't want to tell me anything he was thinking at first, I kept begging for him to and finally he just told me I needed to let him get comfortable enough that he could speak up for himself. So I stopped bugging him about it and then one day he finally opened up to me."  

                                "I honestly wish I could believe that would work." Sherlock sighed. "I tried that approach first. But he has become worse as of late." Sherlock sighed and looked down, spinning his ring a bit. "So tell me more about the wedding. Do you have a honeymoon planned?"

                                "Yeah, we plan to go to Italy actually." Alex said with a smile. "I tried to persuade him into going to Paris but he thinks that's too predictable. He says the food is better there anyway so I'm trusting him." He chuckled. "When's the last time you and John got to go on holiday together?" He asked curiously. "Victor told me you two were too busy to go on a honeymoon when you got married." 

                                "Well... John doesn't know it yet but I had thought of that." Sherlock grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "So Mycroft and I worked out an arrangement. He will take Hamish for ten days in January and I am going to take John on holiday wherever he wants to go. Then the next month we'll watch Marius so Mycroft can take Greg to Paris." He grinned. "Italy does have better food though, I think."

                                "Oh, that sounds wonderful. If Greg and Mycroft think two boys is too much of a handful Hamish is more than welcome to come stay with Victor and I." Alex promised with a smile. "We'd love to have him there, it's been so long since Victor got to be around him and I think the little one is a blast to be around. He's so smart and creative- what is taking John and Victor so long?" He asked suddenly, his jealousy rearing its head again.

                                Outside Baker Street the Victor and John had walked down to Victor's car. He'd had to park a bit of a way down the block so it took them a minute or so to reach the vehicle, which John didn't mind one bit.

                                "I'm sure Alex wanted to help you with this," John teased as they walked After Victor opened the boot his eyes went wide. "Please tell me these aren't all ours, Victor. This is really too much." 

                                "It's not too much. It's not even close to being enough. And yes Alex did want to help me with this, but you need to talk and I need you to talk to me. So spit it out." Victor turned and put his hands on his hips, looking John dead in the eyes. "What's going on in that head of yours?" 

                                "What?" John said, pretending he had no idea what Victor was even talking about. "Nothing's wrong. I don't know why you're even asking. I'm happy, Victor." He insisted and he moved closer to give him a tight hug, sighing when Victor wrapped his arms around him. This was what he needed. This was what was wrong but he could never admit it.

                                "Ah, so that's it is it?" Victor smiled and hugged him, leaning his head on top of John's. "You have to remember that Sherlock loves you. He'll hug you like this if you tell him you need it. So come on, be honest with me. You forget I know exactly what you're doing." He pulled back a bit and waited until John met his eyes. "It's not easy you know. It was so nice to be here with the both of you, but you two are the center. You two are focal point of all of this. That's what Alex is for me. He's my Sherlock."

                                "I just... I miss you." John whispered, looking down. "I shouldn't and I try not to but I do. It's just not the same anymore and..." He tensed.

                                "You are allowed to miss me John. I miss you too. Every day." Victor's voice was soft, pained even. "But - you're holding yourself back from both your son and your husband. You have to tell him to slow down and take care of you. You can't just hold this in forever." He sighed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "It's like when we first got together and he hit his head. You almost gave yourself pneumonia just because you wanted him to be most comfortable without a thought about your own health. You aren't a fixture in his life, John. You're a human being who needs things. I'm sorry I've been distant but I had to be. I had to learn how to find a way to speak up for myself so Alex could understand what I needed. What I missed from you. I thought if I stayed away you might learn to ask him for what you needed..." He flushed with shame and looked down.

                                "I'm an idiot, you shouldn't have expected that from me." John said with a laugh because he honestly did think he was just a fool. He should have learned how to do that. He was grown man why couldn't he just say what he needed? "I'm not used to doing that, Victor." He said sounding angry but he was mad at himself, not Victor. "All my life I took care of myself and everyone else and if I ever tried to say I needed something from someone, it never went well." He was almost hyperventilating now. "And I don't ever want to tell him I need something because I don't ever want to put stress on him. He worries about me enough as it is. If I sat around telling him how fucking lonely I am he'll feel guilty. And it's awful when he feels like that, Victor. I hate it." 

                                "Something happened." Victor said softly, putting his hand on John's shoulders to steady him. "Was it about the cases? Was it about the boys' parents dying?" His voice was soft, drawing John to speak. "It was, I can tell. John he doesn't know how to handle emotions but you're poisoning your own heart by holding all of this in. He  _needs_ you to tell him. He's already feeling guilty because he can see it. Don't you remember you can't hide anything from Sherlock bloody Holmes?" He smiled sadly. "I know you hate it but he hates this too. He's been texting me you know, trying to find out how to make you talk to him. Trying to ask me what to say that would make you think it's okay to open up. You two are idiots, talk to him John. Ask him to go on holiday or something with you for a few days - let Hamish stay with Mycroft or something and work this out before you explode."

                                "I-I can't ask him to do that," John said wiping his tears away. He felt like that was too much, they were making a fuss over nothing. "We've been away from Hamish too long and I don't want to go off somewhere without him. He gets lonely too, Victor." John pulled away from Victor to lean on the car and take a deep breath. "I'm sorry." He whispered, he had finally broken. He had just snapped even though he promised himself nothing like this would happen again. "I...I just don't know how to speak up for myself. I've never really had to. I've always been busy sticking up for other people and looking out for other people, even when I was a kid."

                                "John, I promise you Hamish will understand. He has Marius now too. Which means he has someone his own age to play with when he goes to his Uncles. You have to learn to speak up John..." Victor sighed and grabbed him into another hug. "Or he'll falter. He'll try to understand and fail, then try to help and fail... And if he can't do anything right and can't figure it out why it will make his mind go crazy. And we both know where that leads..." His voice was soft, but dark. "It's hard, but you have to do it. You can tell me, so tell him." John took a deep breath and shook his head as he wiped away the last of his tears.

                                "I can't tell him now. Maybe after Christmas... But if I tell him now it will only cause him more worry." At Victor's firm look he sighed. "I swear I will tell him after Christmas though." He said seriously and he turned his back to Victor to grab a few of the presents out of the back of the car. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." He insisted.

                                "John, stop it." Victor's voice was tight with pain. "Why do you insist on lying? He's going to go mad. Tell him now. You saw how he was acting up there with Mycroft. He's trying to be different." Victor put his hand on John's shoulder. "You owe it to yourself, to Hamish, and to him." John took a deep breath because he felt like his heart was racing out of control. He didn't want to tell Sherlock right now. Right now just didn't feel like a good time but he knew Victor was right, Sherlock was trying to be different. He was trying to reunite the family so that they could have support. As John really stopped to consider everything that happened, he blushed. Sherlock was doing this for him. Trying to make things better so that John could have an actual family.  

                                "I'll try to, Victor but I honestly don't know if I can just tell him like that." John said firmly and he pulled away from Victor's hand to walk toward the flat door. "Come on then." He scolded, trying to straighten up. Alex sighed and looked at Sherlock asking again what was taking them so long.

                                "Sentiment." Sherlock offered with a smile. "Victor is likely trying to talk sense into my husband, a fruitless effort." He grinned. "I will mention it to Mycroft about the two of you watching our son. I know that Hamish has been a bit of a handful as of late and he does miss you two." Sherlock moved as they heard Victor and John on the stairs, helping John bring in the gifts, smirking at the amount of them. "You two didn't have to do all of this. We only got you a few gifts..."

                                "We owe you birthday and Christmas presents for at least two years, yea?" Victor grinned and once the gifts were under the tree he kissed Alex. "Sherlock - you need to take better care of your husband." He said firmly, not even hiding his tone. John blushed.

                                "I am well aware of that, Victor. Very well aware." Sherlock wrapped his arms around John from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. John smiled a bit, leaning into Sherlock. Sherlock was so relaxed, so open it was hard for him to consider actually trying to speak up. But he really did need to tell him how he was feeling and now since everyone was occupied he could.

                                "Um, can I talk to you alone?" He asked Sherlock nervously, turning his head to look at his husband.  
                                "Of course you can, you two go talk and me and Victor will stay here." Alex encouraged as he pulled Victor onto the couch and kissed him a little bit harder than before just to tease him. Ignoring the noise Sherlock made at them as he walked with John into the kitchen and pulled him into a tight hug.

                                "You've been crying." He whispered, thumbing the tears off his cheeks. "What's wrong John, truthfully?" John frowned, taking a deep breath. He could do this. This wouldn't hurt Sherlock to open up. No, not telling him would hurt him. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes and gently cupped his face in his hands.

                                "I need you. We need to go away for a little while. Just the two of us, alright? I know I have awful timing but I feel... Alone and I just need to reconnect with you properly." Sherlock blushed a bit.

                                "Well I guess you'll have your Christmas Eve present early then." He whispered softly, cradling John's cheeks. "I talked to Mycroft this morning and he's agreed to take Hamish for ten days in January. We can go anywhere you want, just you and me. Hamish can play with Marius and have a good time, Alex says he and Victor can watch him a few days too... We'll get time together just you and me... Then when we get back we'll have a few weeks to settle in and we'll watch Marius so they can go on holiday. What do you say to that John? Anywhere you want. No cases. I swear it. Just me and you and whatever you need." He was eager, like an excited child as he spoke but he was also pleading. "I won't take any cases until then so we can be home with Hamish and plan... Just... Please let me make this right." John's eyes welled up with tears again but not because of sadness. It was out of happiness, sheer joy at the fact that he somehow had found that warmth inside this man. That Sherlock was trying so utterly hard to please him and care for him.

                                "Oh my God, thank You." He gasped, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and hugging him very tightly. "Thank You. Thank you so much, Sherlock. I need that. I needed to go away with you, thank you." He leaned up and kissed his neck a few times. "I just want to go somewhere where we can be alone. I don't care where."    

                                "We both need it. This summer we can take Hamish on a holiday too. Maybe Mycroft and Greg will come and bring Marius..." Sherlock promised, pressing kisses over John's cheeks. "You have to tell me John. You can't keep running from this. I don't see things as easily as others do, but I can tell when you're exhausted. When you're hiding from me." He pressed their foreheads together, a firm grip on the back of John's neck. "We could just go to the country. Mycroft still has control of one of Mummy's cottages." He offered.

                                "That sounds lovely." John breathed, his tears easing a bit. "I promise I'll tell you more often but right now I am telling you. I need to be with you. Just you. Just for a little while. I feel stressed and my migraine is starting to come back." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'll be okay as soon as we can get away, I promise. When we come home I'll be relaxed again." Sherlock just held John close, stroking his back gently.

                                "You haven't taken your medicine yet this morning. Why don't you go rest for a bit? Mycroft and I have to go out and do some Christmas shopping for Marius and get a few things for Mrs. Hudson and the like. You can rest and Greg can play with the boys. Then you all can go out later for a walk?" He offered softly, holding him close. "We'll go on holiday as soon as we're able."

                Meanwhile in the living room Victor and his fiancé were... Well, misbehaving. Well aware that Sherlock and John might have something to say about it. What Victor couldn't quite grasp is why Alex was pushing the boundaries so much. He'd never before imagined he would do something like that, but Alex just grinned and kept on tormenting his fiancé by kissing his neck.

                                "Oh don't you start that." Victor teased. "You never know what ideas those two might come up with." He was clearly teasing, enjoying how Alex flushed. "But you're mine all mine. Just a bit longer and we can go home and finish packing." He nuzzled his forehead against Alex's cheek.

                                "I only ever want to be yours." Alex said, still blushing a bit as he placed soft kisses on Victor's neck. They were alone. He was allowed to do things like this if they were alone, wasn't he? "I don't want to be touched by anyone but you. I never want to share my bed with anyone but you, do you understand?" He asked, playfully growing and nibbling on his ear. He wasn't being entirely honest, but he was enjoying how the primal growl in his voice was making Victor shiver.

                                "Oh God yes." Victor groaned. "I'm sorry we were gone so long. But it looked like you and Sherlock were being adorably friendly. Is he telling you all his secrets yet?" He grinned and nipped at Alex's lips.

                                "No, not really. I was the one telling all my secrets. You were right the man is very easy to talk to. May be because of his good looks," He said with a wicked grin, knowing it would bother Victor. He chuckled deeply when his wandering hands were pinned against the couch. 

                                "You're going to get into all kinds of trouble if you keep this up, love." Victor promised. "The Holmes men will come up with _inventive_ punishments." Alex chuckled.

                                "Nice try love, but I don't think the Holmes men will do anything to me." He leaned over and kissed Victor once more, pulling away when Mycroft entered the room.  "Oh um... Sherlock and John are in the kitchen."  Alex said, a blush on his cheeks and it was obvious he was embarrassed because Victor still had him pinned.  Alex chuckled.

                                "Oh yes, thank you." Mycroft grinned, not blushing. Victor pulled back and looked at Mycroft with confusion. 

                                "Usually that would have made you blush..." Victor said cautiously.

                                "Well things change, don't they?" Mycroft replied coolly and Victor simply nodded. "Sherlock, I think we're going to need to run errands shortly." Mycroft called into the kitchen and received a short reply.

                                "Alright," John sighed, hugging Sherlock close for a moment. This was good. This felt right, this honestly felt like a huge relief. "He's coming, Mycroft." John promised, leaning up on the tips of his toes to give Sherlock one more kiss. "I love you." He whispered before pulling away and walking into the living to sit next to Victor. "We talked." He told him with a shy smile. "We're going away somewhere soon."  When Sherlock entered the room Alex licked his lips, just to screw with Victor.

                                "What exactly are you to about to go do?" He asked curiously.

                                "Erm..." Sherlock froze and flushed just slightly as he caught Alex's actions. Victor also blushed and coughed slightly. Mycroft simply rolled his eyes.

                                "Sherlock and I have some last minute shopping to do since we have a new addition to the family." Mycroft offered to break the silence.

                                "You two are daring going out now..." Victor offered.

                                "No, we're the Holmes brothers and as John has once pointed out my brother's name literally opens doors." Sherlock regained his countenance, not looking at Alex for the moment. "John, take your medicine." Sherlock said in a soft tone but with firmness. He strode into the bedroom and retrieved the bottle returning it to John with water and standing over him with crossed arms until he took it.

                                "Medicine?" Victor asked softly, concern evident in his voice.

                                "Just for a migraine." Sherlock said gently. Alex looked smug as ever as he sat on the couch, his arm around Victor. He had made both Sherlock and Victor blush. It was usually very hard to make anyone blush so he was pretty proud of himself.

                                "Oh, my sister used to get those, bloody awful things." Alex spoke softly and simply to mess with Victor even more, he winked at Sherlock before planting a kiss on Victor's cheek. He was really behaving badly but it was so much fun to toy with Victor like this. John saw the wink and he suddenly felt a bit jealous, he clenched his jaw slightly but resolved himself not to say anything. He just stood and kissed Sherlock once more, maybe for a bit too long and maybe a bit too hard but Sherlock belonged to him damn it.

                                "Perhaps it is best if we go now?" Mycroft said firmly. 

                                "Go start the car, I'll be right down." Sherlock said equally as firmly and Mycroft left the room. The pink was still on Sherlock's cheeks, Sherlock strode over and leaned down so his face was barely a breath from Alex's, his eyes dark. "Alex, you would do well to remember that I keep several pairs of handcuffs and a riding crop properly accessible in my flat and am on first name basis with Scotland Yard - you cheeky thing." He narrowed his eyes, smiling as Alex blushed. "Victor I thought you were good at being dominant." He tilted his head in a questioning and teasing manner, enjoying how his proximity made Victor's breath catch. Sherlock stood back up, leaving Alex panting slightly.

                                "Sherly, don't you dare..." Victor warned sternly, his tone darkening slightly. "You're not handcuffing my fiancé." 

                                "I shall, if he keeps misbehaving." Sherlock promised.

                                "We can stick around for a bit, play with the boys and let you get some rest John, if Alex is up to it." Victor offered softly.

                                "Oh, Alex is up for anything." He said with a chuckle even though he was still blushing. He was misbehaving but he trusted Victor and he honestly believed that Victor wouldn't let Sherlock handcuff him. "Absolutely anything." He said with a grin at John, who chuckled. 

                                "Oh careful Alex. My husband really will handcuff you if you start flirting with me." He chuckled. He stood up, taking a few steps toward the bedroom.

                                "Oh come on, John. I'm just having a little fun. You two like to pretend you'll punish me but you never will." He said cockily, freezing as Sherlock came over and leaned down so his face was mere centimeters from Alex's, his breath washing over his face again. This time he was even closer to Alex, their lips almost touching. Victor just barely bit back a groan of arousal.

                                "I have fourteen pairs of handcuffs, twenty five feet of high tensile rope, two riding crops, and a wooden paddle. You're not up for anything - I know because your breath is uneven, your pupils are blown wide open, and your body is trembling. You're terrified I just might take you up on your bluff and prove to you just whom is in charge here. That's enough to be going on with, isn't it?" Sherlock pulled away suddenly and moved to help John into the bedroom.

                                "Jesus Christ..." Victor grunted softly, exhaling a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Alex... You'd better stop..." Victor said in a shaking voice. "I don't want to have to fight Sherlock..." He tried to laugh but twitched a bit nervously.

                Sherlock swept John into his arms as soon as they were in the bedroom and kissed him deeply, reasserting that John was his love and easing the growling beast in John's chest.

                                "Rest John. After all we're getting a new edition tonight and you'll need to be well rested for Hamish's squealing in the morning." He gently carded his hands through John's hair. "Text me if you need anything and I shall come straight home."

                                "I'll be fine." John pouted, claiming Sherlock's mouth for another kiss even as Sherlock pushed him towards the bed.

                                "In you get." Sherlock whispered to John, settling him down in bed and sweeping kisses over his forehead and mouth. He set John's phone on the nightstand. "Get some rest. I'll let Greg know where you are. I love you. We'll be back as soon as we can be." He whispered, smiling when John mumbled that he loved him too. "I'm sorry to dash off boys," He said returning to the main room and hugging Victor. He feinted like he was going to kiss Alex but just gave him a hug and a wink before donning his coat. "But we really must get this done. Stay as long as you'd like. You're welcome to stay for dinner. Do let John rest and do _not_ wear him out _without_ me." He smirked, winking before he swept down the stairs.

                                "S-Shall we go see what the boys are up to?" Victor asked his breath still shaking.Alex blinked, had all that really just happened? Had Sherlock really just said all of that? Christ he could still feel Sherlock's breath on his face. He needed to be more careful before he found out just what Sherlock would do. 

                                "Was he serious?" Alex asked as he followed Victor up the stairs. "He can't be serious, if he is... Hell I don't know that I mind but that's mad." He whispered. When they reached the top of the stairs he gently pushed Victor against the wall opposite the door. "I bet you wouldn't mind if he was serious though would you?" He asked with a grin before he planted a few kisses on Victor's neck.  

                                "He was deathly serious, love..." Victor panted and pushed back to meet Alex's mouth. "And yea, I wouldn't complain..." He blushed, admitting it. "But I would be awfully jealous and I would have to just mark you all over to restate my claim over your sexy ass."  Alex blushed, his heart giving a flutter.

                                "If you ever want to all you ever have to do is ask, I'm sure they won't say no." He said shyly as he hid his face in Victor's neck. "They would love to get your hands on you again." He wrapped his arms around Victor's waist, holding him tightly. "And Sherlock would love to punish me after what I just did."

                                "Sherlock may be thinking of punishing you but I can promise they aren't out to steal me love. What we had was amazing but you and me are the center of my universe." He whispered, hugging Alex tightly. "I'm yours."

                                "I know," Alex whispered, feeling the blush hot on his face. He hugged Victor a little tighter. "I've been meaning to ask if you would you like that. All four of us together. I mean... That'd be the first time I've ever done something like that but I want you to be happy. I also thought it could be a nice Christmas present." He sounded like a shy child asking that. Victor flushed very red.   
                                "Oh love, I don't think I could even begin to handle that..." He smiled, leaning their foreheads together. "I... I hadn't even thought about it... Is it something you have?" He whispered. Alex was very red now, he felt stupid for even bringing this up. He bit his lip and looked away from Victor.

                                 "I have... But only because I thought it would be something you might want." He confessed. "If you don't want to, then we don't have to. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious." 

                                "Oh... Alex..." Victor groaned softly, pressing his mouth to his lovers hard. "Well... It is not something I _must_ have, but if you are curious we could... We could talk to them about it. But I don't know what they would say and I don't want you to feel like I need that. Because you are everything I need." He cupped Alex's cheek. Alex met Victor's eyes, it was obvious that he still felt embarrassed about this entire thing but he tried his best to keep calm.

                                "I... I'd be nervous to try something like that. All I really want is you, but sometimes I do wonder what it was about those two boys that you enjoyed so much." He confessed, pressing his lips to the corner of Victor's mouth. "I've never done anything as...  Adventurous as you have." Victor chuckled and pressed kisses all over Alex's face.   
                                "It was mad, utterly insane. I fell into it." He was very red. "I trust them with my life and they are the only ones I would trust to truly care for you. If you want to we can talk to them... I'm not against watching you writhe under the work of the Holmes men. God especially not tied up and tormented by Sherlock..." He breathed the words in Alex's ear. "But at the end of the day you are mine and only mine..." Alex shivered and hugged Victor a little.

                                "I want to. I just want to know what it would be like. They've shared you, I want see what that feels like. I belong to you but I want to see what it would be like to have Sherlock handcuff me." Alex chuckled and pressed his lips to Victor's neck. "We've never even tried handcuffs before." 

                                "Then we will ask them." Victor grinned. "No, I don't use handcuffs... I just own you otherwise. Sherlock is much darker than I am..." He grinned. "Perhaps we can join them on holiday for a few days..."

                                "If they'll have us." Alex said shyly because he still wasn't sure if Sherlock and John would even want to do that sort of thing with them. "What about John? Is he like Sherlock? All you ever told me about him is that he's fond of wearing his old uniform." He chuckled.

                                "John depends on his moods and what Sherlock tells him to do. He can be dominating if he wants to be. But he is a lot softer. I am quite sure they will be interested. Sherlock for certain, John likely is curious. We just have to talk to them. I think you should ask them." Victor giggled.

                                "Me?" Alex asked, his eyes going wide and his face turning red again. "I... No. I can't possibly, that's... Embarrassing." He hid his flushing face in Victor's neck shaking his head. "You ask them. You know them... You know them very well and if I ask them it's just going to be awkward and Sherlock will handcuff me." He was rambling now, and it was obvious by the tone in his voice that he was nervous.

                                "Oh.... He might." Victor grinned. "No, no I want you to ask. I will be right there with you. After all, it was your idea." He teased. 

                Inside the room Hamish was giggling but he stopped and looked confused. He looked up and sighed, Greg wondering what was wrong.

                                "What is it 'Mish?" He asked quietly.

                                "The house is different, Papa and Uncle Myc' are gone." Hamish pouted. "Daddy isn't walking downstairs... Maybe he is taking a nap?"

                                "How on earth did you hear all that?" Greg asked with amazement. He had just pulled his phone out of his pocket after receiving a text from Mycroft saying he was going out with Sherlock and John had stayed and was resting down stairs. Mycroft also said Victor and Alex were still hanging around.

                                "He superman, Daddy. He can hear anything." Marius insisted because that's what they had been pretending.       

                                "The house feels different when Papa is thinking or not home." Hamish said softly, furrowing his brow in a very Sherlock manner. "It goes silent... And when Daddy is downstairs the floor creaks. It isn't creaking now... But someone is in the hallway..." The boy blushed at Greg's wide eyed stare. "Papa taught me. He teaches me when we can't sleep." Greg fought not to laugh, because they didn't sleep often.

                                "That's amazing, Hamish." He said utterly astonished with the boy. "You'll be as good as your Papa if he's teaching you so young." Marius stood up and ran to the door, quietly opening to see who was in the hall, giggling when he saw Victor and Alex kissing. He closed the door and ran back inside.

                                "There's tissing people outside."  He giggled more.

                                "Why?!" Hamish groaned, sounding very Sherlockian indeed. "Why is everyone always kissing?" He pouted, looking at Greg. Greg chuckled.

                                "Because when people love each other it's just what they like to do." Marius considered this for a moment.

                                "Can I tiss Hamish?" Greg's eyes went wide.

                                "No, no, no. You only kiss your boyfriend or girlfriend. Not your cousin." He chuckled and Marius blushed a bit. 

                                "Why not?" Hamish crossed his arms and demanded. "If kissing is what you do to people you love then why not my cousin?" Greg was a terrible shade of red now, what had he gotten himself into? Inwardly he cursed Sherlock for teaching Hamish so much, so soon. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

                                "Because it would be like kissing your brother or sister. It's wrong. You're not supposed to do it. I know you two aren't actually related but it's still not right." Greg coughed nervously, damning whoever decided he would have to have this conversation with the boys. "You two are too young to kiss anyway. You'll want to kiss boys or girls when your older." Marius consider this for a moment and shook his head.

                                "Tissing is gross. I don't wanna tiss anyone." Marius pouted. 

                                "That's not a real answer." Hamish pouted as well, crossing his arms. "I don't understand." He sighed. "It is gross but I want to understand it... I will ask Papa later. He knows _everything_." 

                                "Papa will give you basically the same answer I just gave you." Greg insisted but he laughed when Marius started to climb on top of his back.

                                "Mummy always said tissing was for people who wanted to be married to each other." He told Hamish with a giggle. "You don't wanna marry me, do you Mish?" He asked curiously.

                                "No. You marry people you want be related to but aren't yet." Hamish said softly. "Hm..." He pouted but looked thoughtful, Greg knew _that_ look very well.

                                "Oh goodness, you'll be thinking about that all day won't you?" Greg asked as he took Marius into his arms and kissed his cheek. "Hamish, Papa can tell you later. Don't worry about it right now. I believe you and Marius were playing pretend remember, Marius is getting rather good at it." Marius clapped his hands together.

                                "Yeah, 'Mish. I can fly!" He cheered as he tackled his cousin with a hug. 

                                "Hey!" Hamish said, pouting at first but giggling after a few minutes. "When can we go to the park Uncle Greg?"

                                "Would you boys like to go now?" He asked with a smile. "Or should we wait a little bit and see if John wants to tag along." Marius jumped into Greg's arms.

                                "Let's wait for Uncle Jawn, can we have more bicits?"  

                                "Oh, yes! Please Uncle Gweg! More biscuits and milk!" Hamish exclaimed jumping up and down.

                                "Oh Lord, you're trying to torture me." Alex chuckled but he pulled away when he heard the door opening and Hamish and Marius came running out of the door.

                                "We gonna have more bicits and milk!" Marius told the pair happily. Alex chuckled.

                                "Really? Well be careful on those stairs, don't run." He ordered and he smiled when Hamish took Marius's hand and explained how he should go down the stairs. He let him go and watched as Marius climbed down.

                                "How long have you two been kissing in the hall?" Greg teased as he followed after the boys.

                                "What?" Alex chuckled. "How on earth do you know we were doing that?" He asked nervously, going red.

                                "I saw you!" Marius said from the bottom of the stairs.

                                "Uncle Vic always likes to kiss in the hall." Hamish said a bit loudly to Marius. "He use to kiss Daddies there when I was really little." He announced proudly.  
                                "Hamish!" Victor said flushing bright red. "You are so much like your Papa..."  
                                "Yep!" He giggled heading downstairs with the adults before running around the coffee table in the living room. Greg chuckled and looked back at Victor who was now hiding his face in Alex's chest.

                                "Well, it's lucky you've told him or that would have been a very odd way for him to find out." He giggled as he walked into the kitchen to get the plated of biscuits and the milk out.

                                "Oh God, Alex..." Victor blushed more, shaking his head. "He is just like Sherlock... I hope he doesn't spill more info like that."

                                "Ew dat's gross." Marius said at the thought of Victor kissing Hamish's daddies. "I don't like tissing."  He said firmly but he shrieked with joy once he saw the rabbit Hamish had given him laying on the couch. "I thought I had losted it." He said as he ran over and hugged it tightly.

                                "You can keeps him." Hamish said gently, blushing a bit as he stopped by Marius. "He was good to me, now he helps you."  
                                "Uncle Victor?" Hamish asked, coming to rest at their feet and looking up at them with his very best, very perfect impression of Sherlock's cold, steely gaze.  
                                "Yes love?"  
                                "Why haven't you come to see me?" He pouted, crossing his arms. "I am mad at you. You madeded Daddy sad. Papa too. And me!" He grunted as Victor scooped him up, struggling to get away but Victor held him tightly.   
                                "I'm sorry 'Mish. I have been busy. I have missed you all too. Uncle Alex had too..."  
                                "Do you not like me?" Hamish asked Alex directly.

                                "Not like you?" Alex asked shocked. "How can I not like you? You're brilliant! You're so smart and you always tell the funniest jokes." The last one was a lie, they were terrible but Alex always pretended to love them anyway. "You're handsome and you're incredibly sweet. I love you, just like Uncle Vic does." Alex promised, leaning closer and kissing Hamish's cheek.

                                "What are you guys doin?" Marius asked curiously as walked closer, holding the rabbit close to his chest. "I wanna pay to." He pouted and Alex lifted him into his arms.

                                "We're not playing but do you want to play? I know a few games we could play. Would you like to play hide and go seek?" He asked.

                                "Yeah!" Marius cheered.

                                "You play..." Hamish said softly, looking down. Victor knew that look. He sighed softly.  
                                "'Mish?" Victor asked quietly, moving to sit down with him.   
                                "I don't wanna play now." He pouted, trying to pull away.   
                                "Love, it's okay." Victor whispered but Hamish just grit his teeth. "We all still love each other."  
                                "Shut up!" Hamish snapped. "No you don't." He was crying. "You just left. Daddy was sad! Papa is sad!" He tried to pull away and Victor refused to let go. "LET ME GO!" He shouted.  He was behaving just like Sherlock. Unable to properly express his feelings so he got angry.

                                "Marius, why don't you got see what your Daddy is doing?" Alex suggested putting Marius down. The little boy pouted but nodded and ran off to find Greg in the kitchen.

                                "Hamish, is sad." He informed Greg who took him into his arms.

                                "Why?" Greg asked with concern.

                                "Don't know." He frowned, hugging his rabbit close as Greg scooped him up.

                                "Hamish, Victor had to go. He had to move out so you could have your room upstairs. And because I needed him. I didn't want to be alone anymore." He ran a hand through Hamish's hair, trying to sooth him. "I'm sorry, I was the one who took him away from you and your Daddies." Alex was trying to take the blame off Victor. He knew how much Victor cared about Hamish, he wouldn't be able to take the little one being mad at him but Alex could handle it.

                                "You could have come here." Hamish said softly, tears falling heavily and he beat his tiny fists against Victor's chest. "You could have stayed. I don't need room. I need Daddy happy!" 

                                "Oh 'Mish..." Victor said softly, his face tight. "I did wrong..." Victor looked down and Hamish froze, one hand against Victor's chest and one in midair. "You see," He sighed and grabbed the tiny hands in his own. "I was happy here with you and your Daddies. I love you all very much but Alex needed me too. He needed my attention and my love. But I was scared and didn't know how to make everyone happy. So I ran away." He cupped the little boys face as Hamish's tears still fell. "I didn't explain anything I just did it and it hurt everyone. Please forgive me?"

                                "You still love us?" Hamish asked hopefully, his body shivering with a sob.

                                "Of course I do! Very much so. But Alex and I are going to get married and start a family. So we needed a place we could do that." 

                                "You could be with us..." Hamish forced out, trying to stop his tears and Victor smiled sadly.

                                "'Mish, this is your house. There's just enough room for you and your Daddies..." Hamish tried to wriggle away again but Victor held him close. There was a brief struggle before Hamish started sobbing against Victor's chest. Victor's face tightening even further. He felt awful. He hadn't realized how much his abrupt departure had hurt everyone of the Holmes men. "You don't have to take care of everyone, 'Mish. Your Papa and Daddy will be home more, we'll come over more, and now you have Marius too." Hamish just nodded but clung to Victor, sniffling.

                                "I'm sorry, little one." Alex whispered, resting a hand on his back and rubbing it gently. "Would you like to go lay down with Daddy and Uncle Victor?" He suggested. When Victor's eyes went wide Alex just nodded. "It will calm him down." Alex whispered, running a hand through Hamish's hair.

                                "How are we doing in here?" Greg asked, coming back into the room holding Marius with one arm and a plate full of biscuits with the other.

                                "A little bit better. Hamish is just a bit upset. "Are you tired buddy?" He whispered.Hamish hid his face in Victor's chest not wanting Marius to see him so upset. He pushed back.

                                "I want to check on Daddy..." He announced softly and Victor looked concerned and confused. 

                                "Do you want me to come with you?" He offered gently.

                                "No. You play with Marius, make him happy." Hamish ordered, snapping his words at him. He pushed away from Victor, and Victor just let him go. Hamish got down and walked over to Greg looking up at him. "Thank you for getting the biscuits. I'll have some when I come back." He then turned and after a brief struggle opened the door to Sherlock and John's room, slipping inside and pushing it closed a bit hard behind him. He hoisted himself up in the bed and cuddled into John, sniffling some as he did.

                                "God..." Victor forced out a sigh, looking hurt.

                                "What's wrong with Mish?" Marius asked with a pout as he now sat at the table nibbling on a cookie as he stared at Sherlock and John's bedroom door.   
                                "Um, he's just worried about his Daddies." Alex explained as he wrapped an arm around Victor and kissed his cheek. "It's okay, love. He's a child, he just doesn't understand. It's not your fault." 

                                "He's worried about how his Daddy has been sad lately because I've been a bad friend. But we're going to fix it from now on. Just give him a little bit and he'll come back." Victor sighed but took a biscuit. Alex hugged Victor close, kissing the top of his head.

                                "You weren't a bad friend, you thought they needed space so you gave it to them." Marius put his cookie down and crossed his arms.

                                "I want to wait for Mish." He insisted firmly. Greg sighed.

                                "But darling, you don't know how long he'll be." 

                                "Marius, why don't we make sure the fort is all comfy for him so when he comes back you two can eat cookies and watch a movie?" Victor offered with a small smile. After much thought, pulling a face that resembled Mycroft, Marius nodded.

                                "Otay." He said with a soft smile, hopping out of his chair.

                                "I'll go grab the blankets." Greg said and Marius followed after.

                                "I want to help, Daddy." Alex stood, helping Victor up and kissing his lips softly. "You want to show me how to make a fort? I've never done it before." 

                                "Never made a fort?" Victor said in shock. He had Greg help him shift the tables and directed Alex on how to move the chairs. "How unfortunate." He smirked remembering all the times he had seen a blanket fort in the living room at Baker Street. These beautifully mad men...

                                "Come pay Alex!" Marius cheered once the fort was built.

                                "Come play? In there? Oh I'm too big to come in there," he insisted.

                                "Won't fit..." Victor muttered, snorting. "We have had three grown men in there and there was plenty of room." Victor whispered in Alex's ear.  Alex giggled with Victor as he pushed him inside.

                                "Oh, looks like I fit perfectly." He told Marius who laughed and hugged his rabbit closer.

                                "Daddy, I wanna check on 'Mish." He insisted impatiently. Greg crouched down in front of the fort and shook his head.

                                "Just give him a little more time, Mar. Okay? He needs to be with his Daddy." Greg explained.

                                "But I miss him." Marius pouted.

                                "Oh, love. He'll be back soon." Alex promised, giving Marius a kiss on the head. 

                                "Marius, 'Mish just needs to be sure his Daddy is okay. He worries quite a lot. He doesn't act like he's little. You have to help him remember to have fun. I think you two will be best friends."

                                "He is my best friend." Marius said with a nod as he crawled to opening of the fort and climb into Greg's arms. He hugged him tightly and Greg kissed his head. "I don't wike when he sad, Daddy." He whispered and Greg nodded understandingly.

                                "None of us do, Sweetheart."  Alex watched, a fond smile on his face. He wanted a child. He and Victor hadn't exactly talked about it yet but he was sure Victor could read him like a book.

                                "Oh I know that look..." Victor said softly. He laughed. "Wedding first, Mister." 

                                "Shut up," Alex said with a smile, trying to pretend he didn't know what his husband was talking about. "You don't know every look on my face." He insisted with a fake pout on his lips. Marius who had been watching giggled.

                                "He not really sad, he just wants a tiss." He teased and Alex felt his cheeks flush.

                                "Well, Mister are going to come over and give me one?" He asked and Marius giggled even louder.

                                "No!" He insisted and hid in Greg's coat while he laughed. "Save me, Daddy." He pleaded as Alex came over and started to kiss his cheeks. He shrieked with a giggle and Alex laughed.

                                "If you want me to stop you'll have to give me a kiss on the cheek, okay?" He asked and after a moment Marius came out of Greg's coat and gave Alex a very quick kiss on the cheek.

                                "Pttt goss." He giggled, hiding his face in Greg's coat again.

                                "Oh Alex..." Victor laughed. "Look how cute you two are."

                John opened his eyes when he felt someone cuddling close to him, at first he thought it was Sherlock, but then he noticed the body was too small. Then he heard the sniffling.

                                "Mish?" He asked, turning around and wrapping his arms around his son. "What's the matter, Sweetie?" He whispered, glad that his headache wasn't bothering him too badly.                         "Nuffin." Hamish said in a tiny, grumpy voice. He buried his face against John's shirt, clutching it tightly in his hand. He was trying hard not to cry anymore, his little body shivering.

                                "Oh no, I know that voice. You're upset about something." John whispered, running his hand through Hamish's hair. "What's wrong, darling? You can tell me anything, you know that." He whispered as he slowly started to rock Hamish in his arms.

                                "Uncle Vic is gonna leave again, isn't he?" Hamish whispered sadly. "Then you'll be sad again... and Papa too..." He sniffled a bit louder. "No one is ever happy!" He started crying again. He was utterly exhausted and fighting it. He was also deeply upset. 

                                "Hey, hey, who said that no one is happy?" John asked with worry as he hugged Hamish tight and kissed the top of his head. "We are perfectly happy." He promised and it may not have been the truth but they were trying to be happy again. "I'm happy right now, it's Christmas and I have all of my favorite people here." He murmured 

                                "But when Uncle Vic leaves you'll make that face again... And Papa will pretend it's okay but he will mess with his ring..." Hamish said very quietly. John sighed, hugging Hamish closer.

                                "My love, when Uncle Vic leaves, I will be a little sad. But Papa and I are going away on a holiday soon to cheer me up and when we come back everyone will be happy. You'll be happy, Papa and I will be happy, and Marius will be happy because he'll get to stay with us while your Uncles take a holiday together."

                                "But why didn't he just stay with us?" Hamish whimpered. "I don't like the look you get..." He clung to John, sniffling. "You and Papa are going away? Where will I be?" 

                                "Because it was time for him to go." John explained. "He lived with a us before you even came along, darling. Since he moved in his goal was to leave one day and take care of himself. He did that. He's happy with Alex now and that's a good thing." He ran his hand through Hamish's hair, rubbing his scalp a bit because it always calmed him down. "You'll be staying with your Uncles and Marius and maybe even Uncle Vic and Uncle Alex for a few days." He added with a smile. "Won't that be fun? And in the summer, we'll all go somewhere together as a family."

                                "But Daddy..." Hamish looked at him, very confused. "Why do you always have that look when Papa asks about Uncle?" He put his little hand on John's cheek. "I would like to go on vac.. vac... Holiday wif Marius."

                                "Because I miss him," He explained simply. "He is my friend and I miss being around him. Just like when you don't get to see Marius every day, you'll miss him too." He kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his hair. "It's normal to miss him, Darling. Papa misses him too sometimes."  But at the mentioned of going on holiday John smiled. "We'll do it this summer, maybe even sooner... Maybe I can talk your Papa into going to Disney World." He said and he giggled when Hamish smiled just a bit. "See, that sounds like fun doesn't it?"

                                "Yea..." Hamish said softly, wiping his eyes. His sniffling dying down. "I'm sowwy I bovered you." He whispered. "I'm gonna go have a biscuit with Marius now... When you are feeling better can we go to the park?"

                                "Don't be sorry, love. I don't mind. I'm feeling a bit better anyway." He promised as he scooped Hamish up into his arms and began carrying him into the living room.

                                "Mish!" Marius shrieked once he saw his cousin. He ran out of Alex's arms and hugged John's leg until he set him down and then he hugged his taller cousin as tightly as possible. "You otay now?" He asked hopefully when Hamish nodded he smiled brightly. "Look! Awex and Vic made a fort!" He said happily, pulling him inside.

                                "I helped too," Greg pointed out and Marius giggled.

                                "You moved chairs, Daddy. Dat doesn't count!"

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave a comment or Kudos. :)


End file.
